Ghost Ship - SYOC
by Lowrietial
Summary: (DISCONTINUED!) 16 Ultimates are forced on a ship. They're from Hope's Peak; they know what's happening. They're going to be shipped to some place - maybe an island, another country, and they'll be forced to participate in a killing game. However, they know it's coming. They're going to prepare. If they work together, the killing game won't even have a beginning. But they're wrong.
1. Prologue 1

**DANGANRONPA SYOC | GHOST SHIP**

* * *

Aeron woke screaming.

The groping form of a nightmare slowly flickers in his vision. He blinks it away.

He doesn't remember what he was so scared about.

His head is thick with cotton and his neck is stiff. It shifts and twists in an uncomfortable way when he turns. The metal on his back pushes its cold, tangible hands through his clothes. He squirms; his room is usually not this chilly. He sits up. His stomach protests with such vigour that he's forced to lower down again. He realises that his hands don't fall with him.

He swallows past the acute pain in his abdomen and shifts so that he's no longer lying down. The room is dark, but every corner glints with the tell-tale lustre of metal. Panic binds him. This is not his room. His eyes move to his arms. His wrists are wrapped in a white sheet and are tied to a pole in the centre of the room. He writhes. He kicks and thrashes and slams. The panic chokes him. Aeron tries to free his wrists. His hands burn, and they slowly loose colour. Hesitantly, Aeron comes to acceptance that he'll only harm himself if he continues.

There's a door just a few centimetres from him. There's a crack beneath it, one that emits a far-away, white light. Aeron experiments. If he stretches, his toes touch the bare surface of the door. He nudges it a few times. It doesn't move, so he assumes it's locked. He slumps against the pole he's tied to.

His chest is heaving. Breathing becomes a conscious thought.

It's dark. In this room, he is almost blind.

The tears come easily.

The warm drops leave uncomfortable streaks on his face, and he has snot dibbling from his nose that he can't wipe.

 _Why was he here?_

His legs shake, and he tugs them close to his chest, away from the door. He buries his head into his knees.

Suddenly, his body rocks, and he nearly bites his tongue. There's a split second when he lifts, then falls back onto the pole. It halts his crying. Aeron waits for a time, and it happens again.

 _Am I on a boat?_

His joints throb vaguely as he struggles to stand. He tugs on the sheet and pulls himself up. His knees are shaky and uncertain of their strength. He leans on the pole and waits.

The motion happens again, but this time, inertia kicks in, and Aeron stumbles backwards a few steps. His back slams into a metal wall. Everything hurts, everything aches more than it ever has before, but now he knows.

He's on a boat.

* * *

 **Hey! Thanks for finding interest in this story!**

 **The deadline for submissions will be the 9** **th** **of March (subject to change).**

 **Notes and Rules:**

\- **No Mary/Gary sues**

\- **The limit is two OCs per person**

\- **Unlike most SYOCs, this might be pretty short**

\- **I won't be accepting OCs left in reviews**

\- **No SHSL/Ultimates of previous games**

\- **I'll put the OC form on my profile**

\- **Send your OCs to me via PM!**

\- **If you want more information, PM me! I'm a nice person!**

 **IMPORTANT NOTE: If you've got creative fuels you want to burn, write a spin-off or POV chapter and I'll feature it in the story, (you'll get credit, of course). I'll start accepting submissions after the first chapter.**

* * *

 **OC Form:**

NAME:

ULTIMATE/SHSL:

BRIEFLY EXPLAIN THE SHSL: (for example, the Ultimate Cheese-Sniffer. What does that mean? Can they smell cheese a mile away? Are they the only human alive who can sniff all the cheese in the world without gagging?)

WEIGHT: (kilograms)

HEIGHT: (centimetres/metres)

NATIONALITY: I prefer Japanese but if you want to stray it's all good)

GENDER: (I'm not very familiar with non-binary terms, I apologise)

AGE: (14-18)

SEXUALITY:

ILLNESSES: (from auto-immune diseases to allergies, anything is fine. If it's the former, however, provide more background information: is it lethal? How long do they have left?)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE: (scars, tattoos, deranged arms, anything)

CASUAL CLOTHING: (story will take place in summer)

PERSONALITY: (make this the most detailed thing in the form)

BACKSTORY: (feel free to keep it brief; some may not be brought up at all)

LIKES: (two is enough, feel free to add more, though)

DISLIKES: (two is enough, fill in more if you wish)

PEOPLE THEY DON'T GET ALONG WITH:

PEOPLE THEY GET ALONG WITH:

MANNERISM: (any quirks or habits?)

HANDWRITING: (what's their handwriting look like?)

OTHER: (any cool things about them? Can they speak five different languages?)


	2. Prologue 2

**GHOST SHIP | Prologue Continued**

* * *

His mind is immediately swarmed with questions raising their hands, jumping, and pointing their microphones at him. He can't answer any of them and parts the crowd.

 _Focus_.

He glances at the sheet around his wrists. In the dark, he tries to discern a simple loop he can twist out of, or a knot tied with uncertain, clumsy fingers, but sees no opening. His fingers clench uselessly and frustration wraps its spindly legs around his gut. _Who put him here? Who tied this knot?_

The boat rocks and Aeron slips on his feet. He lands with his teeth knocking and his head spinning. His back groans with a newfound ache, laced with enough pain to make nearly all his fear give way to irritation. _How dare they do this to him? Were they doing this for money?_ Aeron bends. He wants to go home.

Aeron jolts. He realises that his elbows can touch the ground. He looks up and sees that the sheet has slid down to the lower half of the pole.

 _It's loose!_

He gives his hands a violent shake. They don't move – but the sheet does. An idea slams into his head with enough force to leave his thoughts swimming. Aeron forces himself to stand again, despite his trembling and tired limbs. His stretches out with one leg and attempts to kick the door.

His misses, and the pull of his hamstring stuns him for a second. He clenches his teeth and twists the sheet so he stands adjacent to the door. Again, he reaches out with his leg, pointing his toes as he tries to push the handle. He touches it, and slams down hard, but it just rebounds as his leg drops.

Vexation curls its fingers into his ribcage and squeezes. He exhales and tries again. The boat sways uncertainly. Aeron pulls his leg down and carefully follows the motion of the moving ship, ensuring that he is able to stand steadily. When all is still, he reaches out with one final, desperate kick, and the door gapes open.

A beam of sunlight shoots into the room. Aeron squints and blinks past the strain in his eyes, however, all he sees outside the door is white. In the sun, he is blinder.

A child-like breeze slowly pushes the opening wider, carrying the smell of salt. Aeron closes his eyes for an impatient minute and opens them again. Dry tears cake his vision, but he sees the ragged, brown wood of a deck.

The boat staggers in the air for a millisecond and falls down again. Aeron's breath shudders. Beyond white railings, all he sees is an empty ocean.

 _Where was he going?_

His brain stutters and loops the question in his mind.

He tries to remember how he ended up in the ship, but his brain circuits and burns. He feels something, a vague _something_ at the back of his mind, but the gates are closing on his fingers and he can't grasp it yet. The only explanation he can find for this in his worn-out mind is that he was possibly hit very hard on the head, and will recover the information soon enough.

He squints against the white sunlight. He sees a gull swoop down in a graceful arc.

 _'Help me!'_ he wants to cry at the gull. However, his mouth parts and an empty exhale brushes past his lips.

He staggers against the pole and sinks.

So what if he's got the door open? It does nothing.

Aeron leans his head against the cold, hollow metal and cries. His tears are small and without heat. He draws sticky, shallow breaths. It is silent, as always.

An idea flickers across his mind, like a nightmare: _what if there are people on the ship?_

He doubts a boat would carry a single person like him. There must be cargo…and people.

Aeron tries to wrap his lips around a bite, a word. He slaps the broken pieces of his mind together and struggles to connect a term that hasn't been used in two years. In his brain, he relays countless situations, countless conversations, countless sentences. The word rings and throbs in his head. Slowly, his vocal cords try to replicate it. In the end, he is left with an uncertain vibration and a tired, tired mind.

"Help!"

It's only one word, yet it squeezes and tightens his throat.

The word resonates in his head, fills his limbs and mouth with old vibrations. It builds and pushes at his tongue, shoving its way out in a mangled, used cry.

"Help!"

It's been too long. His mouth is sore and his throat burns. He slumps against the pole. He can't. It _hurts_.

The door throws itself open.

Aeron knows that isn't the wind. Through dry tears and white, white light, he sees the silhouette of a hand.

* * *

 **SUBMITTED TALENTS:**

\- Ultimate Palaeontologist

\- Ultimate Jazz Musician

\- Ultimate Experimentation Tester

\- Ultimate Back Alley Doctor

\- Ultimate Weather Forecaster

\- Ultimate Debater

\- Ultimate Anatomist

\- Ultimate Baker

\- Ultimate Environmentalist

\- Ultimate Podcaster

\- Ultimate Mountaineer

\- Ultimate Internet Personality

\- Ultimate Contortionist

\- Ultimate Glassblower

\- Ultimate Investigative Journalist

\- Ultimate Super Sentai Fan

\- Ultimate Consulting Detective

\- Ultimate Linguist

\- Ultimate Cave Diver

\- Ultimate Bank Robber

\- Ultimate Runway Model

\- Ultimate Historian

\- Ultimate Bowler

\- Ultimate Occupational Therapist

\- Ultimate Private Investigator

\- Ultimate Sociologist

 **SUBMITTED GENDERS:**

Male: x14

Female: x12

 **SUBMITTED NATIONALITIES:**

Japanese x20

Japanese/Welsh (mixed) x1

Japanese/American (mixed) x1

Canadian x1

English x1

American x1

African American x1


	3. Aeron Murakami

**Aeron Murakami**

* * *

Aeron remembered hearing loud rings fill the silence of his empty bedroom.

It was dark, and he had a flashlight held in the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. In his left, he held a Hiragana chart, neatly tabled with Japanese characters.

It was late; he could tell because the television in the lounge was off. That usually signified that his parents were asleep.

When the ringing first struck him, it came almost naturally, like it was always there but Aeron never noticed it. It simply melded into the silence and filled it with white noise. He tried to wave it away with his hand, and he smacked his ears a couple of times, but it came back like an insistent bug.

Being only four, he dismissed it.

* * *

"You write it like this," Aeron demonstrated, as he traced the words _afal_ neatly on the corner of his book. _Apple_.

His friend's clumsy hand tried to replicate what he wrote, but she dropped her pencil halfway through the _f_. She balled her fists in frustration. In the noise of the unsettled classroom, Aeron didn't hear the clatter of the pencil as it fell off his desk. His friend screamed something, but he missed it.

"Could you say that again?" he requested politely.

The girl raged. "I said Welsh is too hard! I'm only five!" She pushed herself away from his desk and stormed off.

Aeron stared at his miscellaneous school utensils. She'd knocked his bottle over and titled his pencil case. He adjusted it patiently. "Well, I'm learning Japanese _and_ Welsh right now and it's _easy_ ," he mocked under his breath. Beside him, his classmate giggled soundlessly.

* * *

Aeron sat with his knees tucked to his chest as his father pointed to several dirt piles.

"This place here," his father prodded at a particularly small opening, "this is a fossilised tooth." He glanced expectantly at Aeron, who was tugging at some stray grass strands.

"That's cool, Dad." He hid a yawn behind his elbow. "A human tooth?"

His dad glowed. "No, son." He removed a brush from his belt and started dusting away at dirt. "A dinosaur's."

Aeron shot up from the ground. "A dinosaur?" He immediately clambered to his dad's shoulder and watched as his father slowly uncovered the tooth. "I wanna see! Let me try!"

His dad chuckled and Aeron could feel the vibrations along his chest. "Of course, but I'll be pointing at where you need to dust, alright?"

Aeron pouted. "I wanna do it myself!" He made a grab for the brush but his father slipped it back into his belt.

His dad ruffled his head with a big hand. "Not yet, Aeron – you're only six."

* * *

The doctor made a strange, disappointed noise and removed the mini torch from Aeron's ear. His parents leaned in, shoulders tense.

The doctor rolled back on his wheelie chair and stared them straight in the eyes. Aeron played with a loose piece of thread on the armrest of his chair.

"Your child won't be able to hear in seven years."

His parents froze. Aeron stopped fiddling with the string.

No one said anything. It should've been silent, Aeron knew, but there was only the ring in his head, growing louder and louder, becoming a bigger bug as the days passed.

Suddenly, his parents exploded into a wild burst of static.

Aeron went back to the armrest and attempted to pull out the thread.

* * *

His father put the book aside, and quickly ran over the signs. "I…think I got this." He quickly ran over it again.

Aeron didn't give him any more time to prepare. "Start, Mum!"

His mother flipped the board. _I want to eat._

Without thinking, Aeron signed the words quickly. His dad fumbled through several phrases with hasty fingers. His mother smacked the timer. "Done! You loose, honey."

Aeron tackled his father into the couch. "You're too slow, Dad!"

The family erupted into a fit of giggles.

* * *

"Son, do your homework!"

Aeron ran off with his hearing aids between his fingers. "Sorry, can't hear you!"

"I know you can hear me!" his mother cried out in dismay, leaning out from the kitchen.

* * *

"Say that again?" Aeron asked. His friend exhaled in an annoying, impatient way.

"Forget it," he said, and ripped open a bag of chips.

The ringing in his ears slowly started to build as neither boy said anything. It rippled in his head in an endless drone. He fiddled with his hearing aid, turning up the dial. Aeron fisted the grass beneath his fingers – that was the fifth adjustment this week. The ringing thrum blocked out most conversations, and he could barely hear the gentle voice of his mother anymore.

Someone smacked his shoulder roughly. Aeron toppled to the side.

His friend stood above him, irked. He opened his mouth and said something, but the ringing spiked and blocked it out before Aeron could quite catch it.

"What'd you say?"

His friend huffed soundlessly. "I said the school bell rung!" He marched away before Aeron could ask further.

He was confused. _Did the bell really ring_?

* * *

When Aeron was fourteen, he woke to silence.


	4. Confirmed OCs

**Bonus - A sneak peak of the first chapter:** Finally, she cuts through the last, stubborn string and cheers in triumph. Aeron imagines that she has a soft, tingly laugh; one filled with bubbles and blooming flowers. Unfortunately, he can only look as she smiles radiantly and clasps his hands in hers, her silver bracelet unconsciously digs into their skins, rough but reassuring. He notices that it dangles a pink cupcake and a blue paper cup. He finds this strangely fitting.

 **SYOC CLOSED**

* * *

 **CONFIRMED OCs**

1\. Aeron Murakami - Ultimate Palaeontologist (Kayoi1234)

2\. Amai Yakusuga - Ultimate Baker (liammarklh88)

3\. Taiki Hino - Ultimate Weather Forecaster (mayurie)

4\. Hanako Hisakawa - Ultimate Debater (TheVolcanicGal)

5\. Toboe Kureshi - Ultimate Back Alley Doctor (Mystique Monroe)

6\. Riku Watanabe - Ultimate Anatomist (Abitat Eco)

7\. Flynn Taggart - Ultimate Environmentalist (hambor12)

8\. Shizuka Takhiro - Ultimate Glassblower (Crimson Spider Lily)

9\. Saito Taira - Ultimate Investigative Journalist (TheRoseShadow21)

10\. Isaac Grayson - Ultimate Consulting Detective (Richard Conway)

11\. Hana Sasaki - Ultimate Linguist (TheRoseShadow21)

12\. Nanami Suzuki - Ultimate Cave Diver (Giangleo)

13\. Pauline Celeste - Ultimate Runway Model (Pretty Palutena)

14\. Ken Hayashi - Ultimate Bowler (Orlando Butler)

15\. Tsukina Natsuki - Ultimate Occupational Therapist (RioA)

16\. Juudai Yamazaki - Ultimate Sociologist (Kuranoir)


	5. Reset and Relent the Regretful Resent

**Danganronpa SYOC Chapter 1**

Amai took a shuddering breath. Her throat bubbled with hot blood.

"Please, _please_ , no…" she gurgled. She wiped her mouth with a trembling red hand. " _Please_."

Her vision wavered with tears and haggard illusions. Standing above her, Hisakawa wordlessly eyed her with unconcealed relentlessness.

"Do it," the Ultimate Debater demanded.

Fear snaked along the floor and choked her along with the blood in her throat. "God, no! Please, no!" With a heaving wheeze, Amai startled away from Hisakawa on her elbows. Her head spun with the taste of blood and cold tears. "D-Don't," she croaked, throat rippling and stomach squeezing. "Don't do it."

Hino held a knife dripping with blood. _Her blood_. Several times, he swapped the knife and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. "I-I…" he gagged and choked on the lump in his throat. "I-"

Amai backed into the wall. She jerked and clumsily staggered onto her side. Exploding pain riveted in her stomach. Startled, she coughed into the carpet, her throat sticky and wet. Blood splattered across the floor of the room. Her vision turned the world bleak, and her ears muffled the sound of the sea for a few frightening seconds. Every small inhale and exhale brought upon an onslaught of vicious fluid that dragged its way despairingly down her throat. She stopped trying to breathe through her mouth.

She gripped tightly onto the red carpet. Her nails clenched her blood resentfully.

" _You're absolutely amazing, Amai!_ " _her mother cried, as she wrapped her warm, warm arms around Amai's shoulders._

" _I don't really think so…but thank you, Mum," she replied back, her heart full and thumping._

" _The line says otherwise," her father added from the kitchen, his big hands caked with flour and cinnamon. "My baby girl's a genius!"_

 _Amai glanced outside their modest bakery, watching as the queue snaked into the parking lot. The air twirled the morning scent of baking pastries and city hustle. It was loud, hot, and stuffy, but absolutely perfect._

"You're horrible." Amai hissed, as she clenched the carpet. She curled into a ball and clutched at her bleeding stomach. "Die alone!"

There was a flash of anger, and Hisakawa ripped the knife from Hino's hands. Immediately, the unnerved boy tried to take it back.

"No! Hanako, if you kill Yakusuga, you'll become blackened!" he protested.

Hisakawa shoved him aside and gripped the knife until her knuckles whitened. "I can come up with a million counters for that argument," she said easily, and pointed the blade in Amai's direction.

The Ultimate Baker stared down the blade in Hisakawa's hands. In vague satisfaction, she didn't flinch. Threateningly, a wave of black rolled over her, blocking her vision and faltering her breaths. Amai pressed her fingers deeper into her stomach. Pain reared its ugly face into the picture. She grimaced. That was good. Pain meant that she wasn't dead – yet.

"Y-Your hands," she laughed breathily. "Your hands are shaking."

Hisakawa, determined, did not look down. "Well played, Miss Baker."

It was too much. The pain crashed over her in relentless waves. She was being dragged under and under, blood filling her lungs, thick and coarse like seawater. Her hands quaked and clasped numbly. Distantly, she recalled the feeling of the morning sun glazed over her face and the squish of damp dough under her fingers. Her body shook as she sobbed loudly.

She remembered waking up to the smell of strawberries and waffles. She remembered, just yesterday, the chocolate mess spilled over the kitchen counter. She remembered promising to clean it up after she got back from school – there'd be ants otherwise.

Now she was here, the cold descending onto her body and normality slipping from her fingers. _There_ , but intangible.

Dragging the loosening pieces of her mind together, Amai tried to imagine the orange walls of her bakery and the warm, loving hands of her family.

 _I'll miss you, Mother, Father._

The rocking sea slowly flattened, and the hot, sweaty air started to cool.

 _I love you both_.

Her fingers loosened and her eyes blurred out.

A girl with short, dark blonde hair throws herself into the room. Aeron jumps and slams into the wall. His heart thumps wildly in his chest.

Purple eyes blown wide, the girl holds her hands out and says something. Aeron thrashes with the sheets gripping securely onto his wrists.

The girl flounders and panics. She says another thing.

Aeron stops moving. He rushes through words floating in his head.

 _I can't hear,_ he thinks he says. His throat constricts and itches.

The girl freezes.

Then she nods understandingly. She steps further into the room and starts pulling out several drawers hastily. Aeron watches as she rifles through each one, coming up either empty handed or with a pen clutched between her lavender-nailed fingers.

Finally, she pulls out a grey journal from a wooden cabinet and brandishes it victoriously in his face. She tells him something and starts testing out the many pens on the cover.

Aeron stands, trapped, his knees and arms shaking. There's a girl on this ship – a teenager like him, yet…

She wears a neat, floral white apron dress, translucent black tights, and grey flats, all touched up with a chocolate-stained purple apron tied firmly to her slim waist. Her pale, porcelain skin is untouched and unblemished. She walks around with certainty and determination. There are no marks of struggle on her hands.

Aeron looks at his arms, at his knees, dotted and flowered with purple bruises. His wrists are red and glint angrily in the white light. Panic and doubt creeps up his spine like a long-legged spider.

The girl finally finds a pen that leaves behind ink trails instead of engraved lines. She flips open the tattered journal and scribbles cursive onto the first yellowed page.

 _I'm Yakusuga Amai. I'm going to set you free._

Aeron looks up and stares into the girl's determined gaze.

She continues writing.

 _However, I'm going to be using a knife to cut the sheet, is that alright with you?_

Fear slides down his throat. He takes the journal and pen and backs away from her. With shaky fingers, he writes jaggedly: _I don't trust you._

The girl, Yakusuga, gives him a patient, compassionate look and gently pries the writing materials away from his hands. _I won't hurt you. I'm just as scared as you._ They meet each other's gaze. Her eyes churn with unbridled kindness and warmth. However, underneath her swirly gaze, Aeron undoubtedly sees the prickles of fear etching itself into her irises.

Tense and riddled with exhaustion, Aeron presses his forehead against the cold pole, feeling the iciness of the metal sink into his overworking brain.

Yakusuga shoves the pen and journal into his hands and pulls a long, thick knife from the pocket of her apron. She begins to saw easily at the sheets holding his wrists together, keeping the blade distant from his skin.

Aeron attempts to write with the pole obscuring his vision.

 _Where did you get the knife?_

Yakusuga stops for a split second to the read the page, then pockets her knife as she answers. _In my room. Everyone has one._ She gestures to the far wall. _You have one, too, in that drawer._

She hands him back the pen and starts to vigorously attack the sheets.

Aeron mulls over the new information. **Everyone has a knife?** His eyes dart to the metal drawer Yakusuga pointed to. He can't see from where he's standing, but the drawer's open, so she must've seen it. However, what stands out most is the word 'everyone'. Does that mean that there are more people here? Are they tied up as well?

 _Everyone?_ Aeron scribbles on the book.

Yakusuga stops, knife poised halfway through the sheets. She peers at him through her layered hair. _Yeah, people from Hope's Peak._

Hope's Peak.

The name rips through his mind and unzips a flood of memories. He remembers the clean printed acceptance letter, approaching the large irons gates, walking into his classroom filled with unidentifiable faces-

 _I'm from Hope's Peak as well!_ he fills in hastily. He waves the book in her face to get her attention.

Yakusuga patiently puts her activities on hold again and skims over his messy writing. A smile slowly grows on her face. _That's great! So am I!_ After a second of hesitance, she writes again, slowly. _Do you remember your Ultimate?_

Aeron pauses. Yes, _yes_ , he remembers. Fossilised jaws in museums, imprinted footprints the size of his arm, the proud smile of his father. _I'm the Ultimate Palaeontologist_.

He sends her a questioning look once she finishes reading. Immediately, Yakusuga understands what he's trying to say. _Ultimate Baker :)_

Finally, she cuts through the last, stubborn string and cheers in triumph. With a shake, he is free. Aeron watches as she smiles with an open mouth. She must be laughing. He imagines that its soft and vibrant – one filled with bubbles and blooming flowers – one that makes a rise in your chest. Unfortunately, he only looks as she smiles radiantly and clasps his hands in hers. Her silver bracelet digs into his skin. It's rough, but human. He notices that it dangles a pink cupcake and a blue paper cup. He finds this strangely fitting.

She takes the pen and writes with the smile still stuck on her face. _I need to take you to see everyone!_ She snaps the book closed and smacks it against his chest. Without waiting, she tugs him on his strained, raw wrist, dragging him out the door and onto the steps of the wooden deck.

The boat rocks and sways, but Yakusuga's grip is firm and warm.

When Aeron steps outside, the sun engulfs him.

The white light spreads and dissipates around the corners of his eyes. Past the veil, he sees the ocean's blue body, undulating with heavy heaves. Seagulls cry out soundlessly, beaks agape and wings spread like beach falcons. Beyond their gliding forms, Aeron sees the touch of horizon and sea, the sky a cloudless, weightless blanket hanging over them. Salt punctuates the smell of the rusty rails. His bare arms are scooped up gently by the soft sun-dipped wind. It's absolutely beautiful.

He glances over. Yakusuga stands with her back against the sun. Outside, he notices her faint orange freckles and the light, pink and yellow flowers gardened across her dress. On even ground, she stands taller than him. She smiles, and her florid cheeks lift as she does. _Most of us are gathered in the restaurant._ Her hand manoeuvres delicately on the worn page. She grabs a black and white strawberry pin from her pocket and clips it to the left of her hair, holding back several messy strands.

She points down the deck and starts pacing. Aeron follows, his feet uneven and weak.

* * *

Yakusuga opens the door to stagnancy. Aeron peers from behind her shoulders at the stillness of the air inside the restaurant. Their presence interrupts whatever delicate tranquillity the room held. Without open expressions of welcome, eyes trace them as they step inside. Aeron feels someone's gaze violently scrutinise his form. When he glances back, he sees that the door is shut, letting in mild sunlight through rounded windows. It's harder to breathe inside. The air trembles with the precarious balance of cautiousness and hostility.

From a table with two girls, one of them stands abruptly. Aeron watches as she adjusts her red bangs and straightens her short-sleeved, white jacket before she starts treading their direction.

Yakusuga gently touches Aeron's elbow to grab his attention. _I'm going to the kitchen to make everyone bread. Anything you prefer?_

Before he can reply, the redheaded girl mouths a 'hello', and Yakusuga's out the door.

* * *

 **TSUKINA NATSUKI**

Tsukina wants to help. She wants to help in all the ways she possibly can. She wants to lift the pressure from everyone's shoulders and watch as the seriousness in their faces—seriousness that is too cynical and mature for teenagers—disappear and fade into optimistic smiles.

However, confined to the restaurant, she can't do much but smile and insist that she can help; that she'll be there—morally or physically—for everyone whenever they need her. She sits across Sasaki, the Ultimate Linguist, who's skimming through a book on traditional Chinese. Sasaki writes down notes in French with an unoccupied hand.

"Sasaki," Tsukina tries. She desperately wants a companion to talk to. Pauline intimidates her—mainly because she has not seen someone more beautiful in her life, and Watanabe tells her to leave him be, before the thought of even wanting to talk to him comes.

Without glancing up, Sasaki hums in acknowledgement.

"Did you eat well this morning?"

Yakusuga made them crumpets and cinnamon buns, despite the limited resources in the kitchen. They were wonderful and warm—Tsukina's first bite into a bun made her eyes water. She's extremely grateful for the baker's kindness that stretches without halt, even in the dire situation.

"Yes," Sasaki replies, though it sounds non-committal.

Testing the waters, Tsukina asks another question. "How are you feeling?"

"Sure," Sasaki replies, without a pause.

Tsukina blinks. She pushes her glasses up her nose. "If your body aches, I can walk you through some exercises!"

Sasaki makes a wry noise. Tsukina is unsure if it is a noise of confirmation or agitation. Sasaki's hands scribble restlessly onto the paper, and Tsukina gives up, realising that she can't start a conversation with the linguist, either. She huffs and starts playing with her fingers. Sasaki is a sweet girl with two, coral-coloured ribbons holding her purple plaits together. Her hair is very long, and reaches her waist. She keeps her fringe side swept, and there are several occasions where she has to brush it out of the way when she's writing. She has many scars and burn marks—faded long ago—that twist around her legs, right arm, and hands. Tsukina wonders about how painful it must've been. She wonders about how many more are hidden underneath her pastel pink dress. She assures herself that there can't be much more, because the dress is shoulder length and cuts at her knees. Tsukina notices a white cardigan wrapped tightly around Sasaki's waist. The linguist has knee-high white, lacy socks, and pairs them with red Mary-Janes. Sasaki wears simplistic pearl bracelets and necklace. On her right hand, however, is a plastic strap.

Tsukina recognises the strap as something medical. She squints to see it, without making it obvious that she's (only slightly) spying. In print is Sasaki's full name, date of birth, home-phone number, and medical jargon. She surprises herself for being able to understand it. Though her Ultimate requires some background medical knowledge, most of her work is practical. The strap implies that Sasaki has some sort of pain insensitivity, but that's all she can catch before the linguist moves her hand to flip a page.

Tsukina sighs and sinks back down into her seat. She feels restless—having no knowledge of who needs her help, or if she can even be of service. Just as she is about to stand and exit the restaurant, the doors are thrown open.

* * *

 **HANA SASAKI**

Hana watches as Yakusuga exits the room, but not before a cold breeze slips through and envelopes the room with its chill. The boy glances back worriedly, almost absentminded at Natsuki's approach.

"Hello!" Natsuki chimes. The boy's eyes flicker across her face and around the room, as if he's unsure where to look. Hana fiddles with the coral-coloured ribbons in her hair. She has a hunch, but is uncertain about acting on it. She does not want to be wrong and offend the boy because of her mistake.

"You have bruises," Natsuki observes. Hana perks up from her chair and observes the boy. It's true—he has faint, purple blemishes that bloom on his arms and shins. She remembers Saito pulling her into a room and showing the bruises on his stomach. She tries to correlate the reasoning behind the markings, but comes up empty. What do the boy and Saito have in common? She draws her attention back as Natsuki places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are you still in pain?"

The boy makes a confused sound, and it's sudden enough to make even Natsuki falter. However, for Hana, it's like the final snap of a clog being fit into place.

"Natsuki," she calls, as she stands from her seat. Natsuki whirls around, apprehension stretched across her pretty features. "He has a hearing impairment."

Natsuki gapes and her expression sinks. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

The boy, still confused, glances around for an explanation. When they lock eyes, Hana starts signing to him. _Hello, I'm Sasaki Hana; I'm the Ultimate Linguist. Who are you?_ She fixes him her warmest smile. She can understand the perturbation that he must be feeling. She wants to bring as much ease to him as possible.

The boy rushes to reply. _I'm Aeron Murasaki, Ultimate Palaeontologist._

Hana voices his introduction to Natsuki, who smiles in understanding.

"I see!" she chirps. "I'm sorry if I was too forward."

Hana relays this to Murasaki, who nods affirmatively. _Please come to me if you need any help_ , Hana offers. _I'll try my best to aid you._

Murasaki nods again. _Thank you_ , he signs, before he pulls out a book and writes something in it that he shows to Natsuki.

Hana wants to get up and translate his conversations, and feels a slight sting in her chest about Murasaki not asking her for help despite her offer. However, she remains seated and waits patiently for Saito to return.

* * *

The girl in front of him blinks owlishly behind her bifocal glasses. She points to the book in his hands. Aeron hands her the tattered journal and watches as she takes it carefully.

 _Sorry, I didn't know,_ she writes elegantly, her characters large and filling up the lines. _I'm Natsuki Tsukina, pleased to meet you!_ _I'm the Ultimate Occupational Therapist! Are you experiencing any form of discomfort?_ When she writes this, she does a little flourishing jog, and her black gym tights stretch along with her legs.

Aeron wants to say he feels like dying, but doesn't want her to worry again. Instead, he declines with a smile.

Natsuki frowns. Her eyes dart to the bruises on his legs for a noticeable second, but she doesn't bring it up, thankfully.

That draws Aeron's attention to her light olive skin. Like Yakusuga, she seems untouched of blemishes and forms of struggle. Was it just him who was tied up? Why only him?

As if the questions floated above his head, Natsuki answers in the book: _When I woke, the seams on the sheet were already fraying. I tore through them with my teeth!_ She finishes with a smile, proud.

Aeron simply nods.

Natsuki adjusts her glasses with a quick hand. Her diamond studs catch the light as she does so. _Shall I introduce you to everyone?_

Aeron glances at the two other girls in the room, one inspecting her nails and another hunched over the table with her back to them. He's not really feeling it. Wanting to decline without looking rude, he shrugs.

 _Fantastic! I'll show you to Pauline first, she's super pretty!_ Natsuki writes enthusiastically, while Aeron dies inside. The Ultimate Occupational Therapist does the thing girls do where they throw their hair over their shoulder, and she gently slides the book back into his hands. Aeron holds it tightly and tries not to sweat at the notion of _meeting people_. Natsuki sweeps her bangs to the right and brushes off non-existent dust off her black shirt. When she turns around, Aeron notices that her hood has two cat ears.

Natsuki dodges past the tables and stops at the furthest wall from the door. Aeron follows, and sees a long-legged, slender girl sitting in one of the chairs, poised elegantly. She's wrapping her hair into a high ponytail and is securing it with a white ribbon. When she sees him, she perks up. She stands and extends a hand. Aeron takes it hesitantly. Her shake is warm and modest. She gestures politely to the book tucked under his arm.

 _So she heard,_ Aeron thinks. He gives her the book and pen.

 _Hello, my name is Pauline Celeste, Ultimate Runway Model_ , she marks neatly. _It's a shame that we have to meet under these weird circumstances._ Something in her green eyes glints as she writes this. _That's a very nice shirt._

Aeron glances down. It's a dark green polo with hints of dirt scattered across the collar. He remembered picking it off the end of his bed.

He looks at her shirt. It's a light pink crop-top, flawlessly ironed and paired with short jeans. She also wears noticeable red boots with deadly looking heels.

 _Thank you_ , he writes, because it's easier. _I like your face._ Models like having their faces and figures complimented, right? Or were they tired of it?

Pauline flashes him a camera-worthy smile, and it shines along with her heart-shaped diamond earrings. Okay, good, he didn't mess this one up. _I'm Aeron Murakami, Ultimate Palaeontologist_.

The model's jaw drops. She takes the pen and writes excitedly, black hair bobbing as she does so. _That sounds cool! Tell me about it?_

Aeron panics. _I dig up dinosaurs._

He's not used to elaborating his Ultimate. Most people say, 'cool' and move on, but Pauline is of a species he has not ever encountered before: the I-extend-conversations-because-I-like-humans kind.

 _Oh,_ Pauline writes. That's it. She doesn't continue. Aeron closes the book and gives her a tight-lipped nod. She nods back.

Natsuki taps his shoulder and gestures to the last girl sitting in the corner. Glad to leave, he trails after her.

Aeron sees the girl twitch at the sounds of approaching footsteps, but she doesn't turn around. She doesn't flinch when Natsuki places a hand on her shoulder. The two must be talking, because to Aeron's eyes, nothing is progressing.

Eventually, the girl turns, her wavy, low-hanging, honey-brown ponytail flying in its own desolate rage. Aeron does a double take. He starts doubting his own intuition. She has pale, tight skin that wraps around her oval shaped face, almond eyes printed with dark brown irises, and thick-rimmed glasses that hang low on her pointed nose bridge. Just as he takes note of it, she pushes it up with a quick motion of her finger.

Is she really a female, though?

Her light blue, short sleeved blouse hangs on her thin frame, topped with a navy and red tie. The top button is undone, but not messily. She adorns brown knee-length shorts, held together with a belt that has a skull-shaped buckle. With the clothes, she looks androgynous.

Natsuki ends the conversation, and the subject in question holds their palm out, making a sharp, beckoning motion.

Thoroughly confused, Aeron hands them the journal.

 _Since there is time, if I must, I'm Watanabe Riku. I am the Ultimate Anatomist._ After a short pause, they continue. _You must have read some of my works?_

Aeron has no idea who this is. He nods anyways.

 _Delighted_ , they write with thinly pressed lips. _I'll be going back to work now._

Aeron glances behind Watanabe. There's a textbook about the size of his head on the table, its thick contents opened about three-quarters through. Just before they turn around, though, Aeron grabs their shoulder and writes furiously.

 _Sorry if I'm being rude, but are you a boy or girl?_

An awkward, unmoving density fills the corner. Watanabe's lips twitch derisively. _Male_ , he writes succinctly, and pushes his glasses up. _If you'll excuse me._

Aeron's about done. He can't do humans. He nods politely to the working boy, and writes quickly to Natsuki that he's heading out to find Yakusuga. The Occupation Therapist accepts with a blinding smile, and Aeron rushes out of the restaurant.

Outside, the sun is lower in the sky but it is not yet setting. The smell of salt stings his nose when he inhales too quickly. He glances up and down the dock. He settles on walking left, since it's opposite where he arrived. He scurries down the wooden platform, alone and frigid. It's eerie, how empty and desolate the area is, how he already seems to be distant from the restaurant. He passes by metal doors, labelled with numbers and small, pixelated icons. Some doors have no labels at all. He hopes he hasn't already passed the kitchen.

To his luck, he sees a sign hanging out from atop a wooden door. It indicates that it leads to where he wishes to go. Just as he's about to enter, however, he smells the hot, strong stench of cigarettes. He squints past the low-hanging sun and into the distance.

Slumped against the rails is a scruffy boy. His upper-half dangles languidly over the edge of the unstable metal. Aeron watches as he takes a tired drag, holding the smoke in his mouth for longer than necessary before exhaling it all out in a big, hurried puff. Around his limp figure hangs a red zipper shirt, one that looks like it's been worn too many times, and it's rolled up at his elbows, exposing his arms to the chilly air. There's a white lab coat around his shoulders, swaying absently in the wind.

Ignoring him, Aeron steps into the kitchen, and it's like walking into an oven.

The blast of heat wraps around his body like a welcoming blanket. Aeron exhales. This is right. This is comfortable. He walks further in, enticed by the smell of flour and cooking bread. He spots Yakusuga behind a counter, hands flying faster than he can see, jumping from one end of the kitchen island to the other. Flour flies in her wake. Aeron lets the door close on its own to alert the baker that he's there.

Without stopping her hands, Yakusuga turns around, and her face explodes into a smile. She beckons him over with the roll of her shoulder.

Tentatively, so as not to bump into anything, Aeron shuffles over meekly, totally amazed but out of his zone.

He stands beside Yakusuga and watches as she switches from kneading dough to mixing ingredients into a large plastic bowl. Her hands are completely coated in yeast and flour.

She points to the bowl and indicates whisking it.

Cautiously, Aeron picks up the handle and swirls the mixture uncertainly.

Yakusuga shakes her head and grabs his arm, spinning and twisting his wrist with vigour. She points to the rim of the bowl and points to the bench. _Don't spill it_ is what he obtained from her gesturing. He nods.

Satisfied, Yakusuga turns back to kneading the dough.

His hands caked in strong smelling flour, Aeron does his share of the work while watching Yakusuga. She wipes her brow with her shoulder.

 _Fun?_ She traces on the flour-coated bench.

 _Tiring_ , Aeron writes back.

She gives him an incredulous look. Aeron understands why – he's only been stirring for a couple of minutes while she's been at it for at least an hour.

 _I'm half your size,_ he reasons.

Yakusuga's shoulders shake. He thinks she's laughing. She playfully bumps their arms. _You're cheerful._

It's true. Aeron remembers crying only a few hours ago.

 _Is it because of Pauline?_ Yakusuga suggests, wriggling her eyebrows.

Aeron rolls his eyes into the fifth dimension.

 _No. I'm not into women._

Yakusuga's mouth drops. Before she writes anything, Aeron clears up the misconception.

 _Or men._

Yakusuga's brows scrunch. She covers their writing with a new layer of flour. _You don't like either?_

Aeron shakes his head. Then he remembers he should be stirring, and attempts to reply while mixing. _No. I'm asexual._ There's a startling moment when he nearly tips the bowl. _And aromantic_.

Yakusuga frowns. _But women are great!_ She places a heart next to her statement. Aeron smiles at this. Then he links the connection.

 _Wait, so it's you that's happy because of Pauline?_

The baker turns red so quickly Aeron startles. _No, no! I'm naturally chipper!_

She ignores how flustered she is by punching the dough. Aeron feels his throat give way to something breathy. He coughs.

 _That's cute. :)_

Yakusuga hurriedly erases all trace of their conversation.

For a second, Aeron forgets that he's stranded. His stomach heaves, and then he's laughing. With the way Yakusuga's hands shake; he can tell she's laughing too.

It's dumb. They're stuck on a boat in the middle of nowhere with five other strangers, but they're probably giggling like twelve year old girls at a sleepover.

 _It's you who makes me happy,_ Aeron confesses with a shaky finger – he can't stop laughing. _Thank you for helping me._

When he turns, he sees that Yakusuga has the warmest, fondest smile on her face.

 _Thank you,_ she writes back. _I wish we'd met under better circumstances._

She picks up the dough and places it into an open oven. Aeron watches as she pulls out a tray from another. The smell wafts over and cleanses the thick air.

 _Do you know where we're going?_ he writes. When Yakusuga walks over, she reads it with an unfathomable expression.

 _No,_ she replies. _But the others are investigating it._

Aeron's mind flickers over to the four students lazing around in the restaurant. They didn't look particularly busy. _Others?_

Yakusuga's smile drops. _Yes. There are other Hope's Peak students here._ Aeron watches as she inhales heavily. _There are 16 of us in total._

All mirth from before plummets. Sixteen Hope's Peak students. He feels the cold, tangible hands of fear latch onto his lungs. He abandons the whisk.

 _We suspect that this ship is taking us to the next killing game location,_ Yakusuga continues. Aeron doesn't want her to. As soon as the words are written, he erases them with a trembling hand.

He grips the edge of the table. He feels like his feet are slipping from underneath him. He squeezes his eyes shut.

 _A killing game._

* * *

 **AN: Wow, there's 4k of my life gone.**

 **I purposely omitted a lot of the character descriptions, but don't worry, I'll bring them up later. It's just very out of character for Aeron to notice things like the size of a woman's breasts or the accessories some of the characters happen to wear. I was already pushing it with Riku and Pauline's descriptions. Another point I want to raise is, wow, I already revealed who the culprit and victims are! I'm such a killjoy. Sorry, it's just a new method of writing I'm trying out. It's just such a Danganronpa cliché to gather everyone into a killing game, reveal Monokuma, show their Shocked Faces™, lay out the first murder, then have a mysterious class trial. I'm basically doing the same thing, just changing the order a bit, so I shouldn't be complaining haha.**

 **Review Replies:**

 **TheRoseShadow21: Thank you for being my first review and sending in two amazingly rounded characters! I was so flustered when you complimented my writing style ;;; You're a really good writer yourself so when I got the review I was practically screaming.**

 **mayurie: Thank you for complimenting my style! Personally I think I have a lot of holes and have the world's crappiest pacing, so this really motivates me! I currently have exams too I know your pain very well hahaha. Good luck!**

 **kayoi1234: Thank you for the pity review. Jk.**

 **Reader (guest): Hahaha thanks.**

 **liammarklh88: I already answered you in PM but thanks heaps. Amai's the sweetest little munchkin and I hope to get as much coverage on her as possible before she…dies. I'm so sorry you were so happy to have her accepted and I'm killing her already! I already wrote the chapter before you reviewed and I did not expect your reaction so killing her now brings me immense guilt sorry.**

 **TheStarshipMessenger: Thanks for the praise. I'm kind of nervous that you see promise in my story…but it's better than leaving you disappointed, right? I'm not very fond of the 'show not tell' trope and I'm kind of ashamed that it evidently shows in my writing. Thanks for the critique though! I'll try incorporate more of it into my chapters.**

 **Pretty Palutena: I replied to you in PM but like, hey again! Thanks for being so enthusiastic about my story so far! I'll do Pauline justice!**

 **Kuranoir: Hahaha it's too late I neglect living a healthy life over this. Juudai's pretty cool - you gotta give yourself more credit! My favourite interaction to write is between Amai and Aeron I try to make it as squishy as possible they're adorbs I love them like they're my own children.**

 **RioA: I will never take my time, not ever. If I take my time I'll be posting after a year I'm trying not to do that ;;; Thanks for submitting though!**

 **dougcupcake: Yeah dude the ultimate was hella cool I wanted to put that in but I realised his dynamics wouldn't really fit with everyone else so I'm sorry I couldn't accept him :( Thanks for continuing to read nevertheless!**

 **hambor12: Flynn puts the pro in proactive.**

 **TheVolcanicGal: No probs, Hanako's a chill girl I really like her personality. Who do you think the culprit is? Your girl or Hino?**


	6. Reset and Relent the Regretful Resent p2

**Reset and Relent the Regretful Resent** **| pt 2**

Aeron doesn't know how it's happened, doesn't know why, but he's back at the restaurant.

Yakusuga has a tight grip on his hand. It's meant to be reassuring, it's meant to be warm, but Aeron can only feel her restlessness and worry through her taut fingers and shaking arm. In another world, Aeron would be at school. Currently, his only reality consists of a stranger's kindness and a resolute unease settling in his stomach. The cool air of the restaurant settles around his body and grips onto his lungs with sharp, piercing fingers. Every breath is a struggle.

After determining the quandary they were stuck in, Yakusuga led Aeron to the restaurant to wait for the other ultimates who were searching the ship. When they walked in, Pauline took a single glance at him and smiled sadly. Natsuki's face softened with pity. Hana's eyes filled with an unfathomable amount of empathy. Watanabe did not turn from his corner.

Aeron stares down at the hardwood of the table he resides in. Despite the situation, he can feel his mind itching for some sort of stable foundation to grasp onto. He's still subconsciously searching for his missing memories. He knows it's probably near impossible, since most likely, they've been purposely erased. He clenches his fists and squeezes Yakusuga's hand tighter. It's unfair.

Suddenly, Yakusuga jolts and releases Aeron's hand from her grasp. Their shared warmth retreats and vanishes into the cold air. The baker turns around in her chair and nearly tips herself over. Curious, Aeron also twists in his seat.

There's a boy at the door. The orange sky casts a sticky outline around his wired frame. He walks into the room and lets the door swing closed behind him. Aeron spots two moving masses of black outside that stumble and bump into the door as it closes. The boy who entered fixes an impactful gaze around the room. He opens his mouth and declares something just as two messy, tangled girls push open the door and flounder through the entrance.

Beside him, Yakusuga deflates. Her eyes glisten. Aeron glances around and makes eye contact with Hana. The girl's narrow, dark brown eyes catch his gaze immediately.

 _He's talking about how the boat is empty_ , she signs. _There are no life rafts_.

Aeron inhales shakily. He tries to filter his breathing carefully. Suddenly, Hana's fingers falter, and she gapes at the boy as he continues to speak with a backdrop of maple orange light. The two girls behind him flicker their gazes around the room nervously.

 _What is it?_ Aeron pursues, growing impatient. _What happened?_

Hana shakes herself out of it, but her face is still stretched into a wry expression of surprise. _There's no one steering the boat._

Aeron blinks rapidly. He turns to Yakusuga to validate Hana's statement, and the paleness of the baker's cheeks seem to prove the linguist correct. He glances back at Hana. _How is that possible?_ He demands. How is the ship moving if no one is manning it?

Hana shakes her head and tucks her hands between her knees. She keeps her gazed fixed on the floor and lets her purple, side-swept fringe hang over her eyes. Aeron glances back at the boy, who beckons the girls inside. They shuffle to a table in the centre of the room.

The boy spots Aeron and his eyes light up in unfathomable determination. Aeron, feeling cornered, shrinks back slightly when the boy approaches. He has a mass of unruly brown hair that sits on his head like a fatigued mop. He gestures to Aeron with an arm trapped in a blue sling, but that doesn't stop his black and orange bowling ball shirt from swaying aggressively. When he talks, his lips move clearly and precisely – Aeron believes that the boy's pronunciation is also crisp and sharp. Aeron can easily read what he says: _you're the last one, aren't you?_

* * *

 **KEN HAYASHI**

Ken waits for an answer from the kid with dirt-caked skin. However, before he can obtain any input, the baker, Yakusuga Amai, waves in from the sidelines, face taut and heavy – no doubt with worry. "He's-he's deaf," she stutters, and her eyes loop around the room before she glances back at him. "I-I found him in another cabin. He was tied up."

Ken nods certainly, and he hopes his face is filled with enough conviction to calm her down. "That's good. Thank you."

Yakusuga sinks in her seat, relieved, but the boy behind her jumps and smacks a book right into his chest. Ken jolts and blinks rapidly in surprise, but he takes the book nonetheless, searching for words.

 _What do you mean there's no one steering the ship?_ Is scratched in the corner. Ken exhales heavily through his nose. He wishes he could answer the boy's question, but his mind pounds with the heaviness and burden of the unknown. For now, the boy will just have to take things at face value. He grabs the pen rested between the boy's twitching fingers.

 _That's exactly what I mean._ Ken writes, and he ensures that his characters are big enough for the boy to see clearly. It's a bit sloppy, but that's to be expected when one of his arms is locked tightly in a sling. Ken holds up the book for the boy to see and snatches it back when the boy makes a sudden grab for it. _Don't worry about it – for now, let's introduce each other,_ Ken writes, and he underestimates his own handwriting, because it fills the whole page.

He flips to another, completely apologetic, and introduces himself. _I'm Hayashi Ken, Ultimate Bowler._ He flips it around and watches as the boy's eyes scan the page with deadly speed, before Ken turns it back, writing something else. _Tell me who you are._

The boy's face scrunches up in distaste and he makes a small noise that sounds like a derisive scoff, but Ken easily pushes that aside with a smile as he hands back the tattered book. As the boy flips through the pages, Ken muffles a sigh and reconsiders the situation. He tries to ignore the lingering dread that hangs at the forefront of his mind – the question of, _where exactly are we going_? He grinds his teeth. If he continues to let that dread tower over him like an unmovable brick wall, he'll crush himself when it eventually crumbles over him. Ken tries to remain logical. There are others still out searching, and they have two investigators helping the search – there's no way they'll come up with nothing. Ken smiles. Yes, this is the best way to think – positive mental fortitude. He didn't become the best bowling ball player in Japan through doubt.

The kid hands him back the book, pages flipped to the front. He gestures to a scribble in the centre.

 _Aeron Murakami. Ultimate Palaeontologist._ Ken's brain stutters on the Ultimate. He rubs at his patchy jaw, filled with stubble. Is the kid a foreigner? Aeron must be a first name.

Aeron flips back to the pages of their conversation and gestures to the question of the captain who's missing in action. He jabs at it angrily several times to emphasise his point.

Ken bites back a sigh and shrugs. Aeron flares, hands clenched, _oh, so boats sail themselves?_ He writes. He looks like he's going to throw the book in Ken's face, but stops and glances behind Ken.

* * *

 **NANAMI SUZUKI**

Nanami doesn't quite know what she's doing when she gets up from the table. Takahiro stands and follows her without a word of question, trailing behind her with her swirly green-grey eyes fixed on the floor. Takahiro fiddles with the sleeve of her blue crop-top sweater and gently tugs down her high-waisted black shorts. Nanami tucks her bag under the table.

"A-Are we introducing ourselves?" Takahiro questions quietly, pale lips tenderly dragging the words from her tongue.

Nanami nods firmly. Yes, she was going to introduce herself to a person…as a person. To humans. Yes. Because she-she is human. Yes. Interaction amongst her peers is very important. Nanami's hands quiver, but she clenches them tightly. She can introduce herself to this new student without Hayashi's direction. She can do this. Humans were born to interact.

As she takes a step forward, Takahiro immediately latches onto her arm and together they nearly stumble onto another table. Takihiro's heeled boots almost puncture a hole in Nanami's foot. She feels the world pirouetting on its axis.

Takahiro also shakes, more vigorously so than Nanami, and there's some semblance in knowing that there's someone just as nervous as her and for that, she's ultimately grateful for Takihiro's presence, as frail and thin as it is. She inhales steadily, for herself and her companion, and steps towards the boy.

Nanami reaches the table, and her eyes flicker between Yakusuga and the unknown boy. "U-Um," she starts, while berating herself mentally for sounding so unintelligently sloppy. "I-I…we-erm, hi, um, we-"

Nanami takes the next inhale like a punch to the gut and forces out the next words without giving herself time to think. "Who is that boy?" she asks, but it comes out like a yell, so it's probably more of a demand, and Yakusuga looks startled, and wow what fantastic first words, but they're on a ship so Nanami can just throw herself off and happily drown – no, unhappily drown because what kind of greeting was that?

Yakusuga looks flustered beyond control, and the heat that rises on her cheeks also sets Nanami's face aflame. "He's, um," the baker tries. "He's-he can't hear."

Immediately, Nanami feels shame and embarrassment crawl up her spine like an unwelcome spider. What if they mis-interpreted the yell? What if they thought that she thought that he thought that he couldn't hear? No, that's not right, her words are jumbling up-

The boy flips open a book and points to a space in the centre. _I'm Aeron Murakami, Ultimate Palaeontologist, nice to meet you._

Nanami almost screeches in abstract horror and from the feeling of being absolutely _lost_. What does she do now? Does she use braille? No, no, that's for people who are visually impaired. He can't hear. Does she sign? She can sign a few words, like _dolphins_ and _rise for air_ , but how will she introduce herself with the limited vocabulary she leeched off her diving trainer?

Hayashi nudges her with an elbow. "Just write in the book," he whispers, though it's unnecessary.

Nanami's face promptly explodes. She feels heat radiating off her face in waves. So all she had to do was write in the book? With fingers she pretends isn't trembling, she takes hold of the tatty cover and introduces herself. _Suzuki Nanami. Ultimate Cave Diver_. She wants to write more, maybe add a smile so she doesn't seem so curt, but she's too scared of messing up her already terrible handwriting, so she refrains. Murakami glances up at her and smiles a small smile. Nanami exhales in relief. She's done it – she's introduced herself to another human being!

* * *

 **SHIZUKA TAKAHIRO**

Shizuka clutches onto Suzuki's arm like a vice and tries to calm her fraying nerves as she waits her turn. She tries to breathe like Suzuki – heavy exhale, heavy inhale. She believes Suzuki breathes like this due to practice and body memory. It's a good meditator, so Shizuka isn't complaining.

"I-Is my breathing…annoying?" Suzuki questions, voice feeble and seconds from cracking.

Shizuka flinches. Did she say that out loud?!

"You-you did," Suzuki answers.

Shizuka gasps and shakes her head vigorously. "No, no! Your breathing is…" words failing her, Shizuka waves her hands around. "Is…you know!" She described it positively just seconds ago. Why is the word slipping from her grasp now?! "It's…very good!"

Suzuki makes an unfathomable expression while her face explodes into a vibrant burst of red. Shizuka immediately panics. Is that…an angry red? It's an angry red, isn't it?! No one flares that colour unless they're mad!

Suddenly, there's a hand on her shoulder, and Shizuka turns around quickly enough to almost snap her neck. It's the boy – Murakami, as she saw before, when he pointed at his name. This time, he points to a blank page while holding out a pen.

Shizuka makes a confused, strangled noise – her expression can't be any better. Murakami, she notes, huffs slightly and brings the book back to scribble something on the originally blank page. _Your name?_

Shizuka blossoms with embarrassment. So _that's_ what he meant. She gently takes the pen from him, and writes in her neatest possible handwriting: _I'm Takahiro Shizuka, Ultimate Glassblower, it's very nice to meet you._ She hopes her hands aren't trembling.

When Murakami takes the book back, he scans it and smiles carefully.

It's been ten minutes and Aeron still has no answers. Everyone in the restaurant now huddles around their table; some dragged extra chairs for the others while they sit and wait. It seems the presence of Hayashi has sparked some sort of unanimous movement in all of them, because now, they are discussing the current issue and how they should go about it. Hana translates all of their conversations effortlessly, which Aeron is endlessly grateful for, even if he was impatient with her previously. While he waits for answers that don't get looped in circles, he observes the newcomers.

Takahiro has hair that matches her crop-top, interestingly enough. It's cut right above her eyes, and it's a wonder that she doesn't cry out every second from it poking her eyeballs. It's tied into two complicated mermaid-looking braids that Aeron can't remember the name of. When she smiles and contributes to the points made, Aeron sees her face glitter with faint freckles almost invisible in the fading sunlight.

Suzuki is adorned in a pastel pink, comfortable looking dress that ends at her knees, showing fading scars that she hides under the table. The straps are so thin and wired that they look like they're cutting through her collarbone. When Aeron squints, he notices a small floral design imprinted on the hip of her dress. Her eyes are dressed up with long eyelashes and crystal-like blue irises. Unlike everyone else, who're in heels or sneakers, she wears flip-flops. Weirdly enough, perched on top of the blonde pixie cut of her hair, she dangles grey diving goggles. It's extremely out of place and irks Aeron to no end. He rips his eyes from the goggles before he can make a statement about them.

Ken, alongside the simplistic shirt and jacket, wears unnameable pants held together by a tacky, white belt. There's a gold chain around his neck that _cannot_ be real.

Aeron huffs and rubs his face. He wants nothing more than to be at home – in the comfort of his sheets and his parents. He wants to rest his eyes, even a little. He doesn't want to be surrounded by strangers. He doesn't want the potential possibility of death to loom so close to him.

* * *

 **HANAKO HISAKAWA**

Hanako grits her teeth and braces herself. She braces herself for the expressions of distraught and for the crumble of the team's mentality. She allows herself another five seconds of catching her breath before she pushes open the door, announcing her presence.

Heads turn. Expectations are thrown towards her like flies for a spider's web. Hanako smirks. How foolish of them, to think they wouldn't get tangled in this absurd obscurity that hangs over their heads like a guillotine.

"There's nothing in the engine room, the upper deck, the lower deck, the middle deck, and captain's quarters," she announces, while ignoring the crestfallen faces that sprout like unheeded saplings. There's one person, though, who stands righteously, a single waving purple flag amidst a sea of white ones.

"Are you sure you didn't overlook something?" Hayashi questions, an inextinguishable determination permanently etched onto his face.

Hanako snaps him a glare. "I _do_ _not_ overlook details," she explains carefully, because he's a child who needs to be told something twice. "There is _nothing_."

Ken fires back with a glare of his own, but it's like a stab of a pencil – it's nothing but an over-exaggerated accusation meant to scare – a pencil's tip is made of graphite, not lead. She can't be poisoned.

She scans the room, and sure enough, as predicted, there's another person who wasn't here before.

He's a small boy with artlessness in his eyes. He scribbles in a book mindlessly while everyone else curls around the table, talking meaningless things about planning and escape. Hanako smirks.

She strides to the table; steps powerful as she overrides other obstacles around – a bag, a book, Watanabe who refuses to shift even slightly. She plops down on a dirty, crooked chair next to the boy. He does not raise his head. Sitting on the other side of him is Yakusuga, who offers her a shy grin. Hanako smiles back out of reinforced politeness.

Hanako scratches her elbows absentmindedly as she waits a response from the boy. She counts down five seconds.

When nothing happens, she pokes the boy on the shoulder.

When the boy looks up at her, with the same, unbright, artless eyes, she ignores his gaze and scans the book. She sees endless words in different handwriting and deduces for herself that the boy must be deaf or hard of hearing. She gestures for the journal, as tatty and rugged as it is, and sets about introducing herself.

 _I am the Ultimate Debater, Hisakawa Hanako_.

No sooner has she finished that the boy prepares himself to take the book back – to introduce himself, no doubt.

 _No need,_ she writes, _I see it here._ She points with the pen at a ratty, yellowed corner, at the name _Murakami Aeron,_ listed with: _Ultimate Palaeontologist_.

Murakami makes a wry face and takes the book back. Yakusuga glances over and apologises in his steed. Hanako smiles.

* * *

Aeron wanted to take the book back so he could read her name better. He couldn't see it, since it was slanted and so, so _messy_. Aeron goes back to doodling a dinosaur on the last page, while keeping Hisakawa in his peripheral. What draws his attention is her red, almost blistering skin, skin she constantly scratches at, possibly without her knowing. After a few minutes, she'll stop for a time, but it continues up again, especially when the conversation in front of them picks up. Besides that, she has raven-black hair that stops exactly at her shoulders. Aeron wouldn't be surprised if she told him that she measured it exactly up to that point. Hisakawa wears clothes with the possible style to be minimalistic – a beige polo t-shirt, a dark-blue, knee-length skirt, and an orange jacket stretched tightly around her waist. Aeron's eyes are drawn to her scratching again, and can only look for a few seconds before they're forced away.

It looks painful.

* * *

 **FLYNN TAGGART**

Flynn walks in silently. Heads turn, but don't stay turned for long. It's the helmet and his definitely-not-small frame – he knows. He, no doubt, looks like a person you'll swivel away from – cross the road to avoid if you're on his path on the street. His grey respirator helmet certainly doesn't attract attention from kids, well; it does, but the wrong kind of attention. He glances around for an unappealing face, and spots her scribbling in a book next to a kid whose face he hasn't seen before.

He meant to come back with Hisakawa, but she left him behind in favour of walking faster. He doesn't like her very much. She seems like someone born with a golden-spoon in her mouth, someone who's too self-absorbed to notice the chaos happening around her.

Flynn excuses himself around the table – past a bag, a book, Watanabe who moves all-too-quickly for him. He sits down right next to Hisakawa, who scowls blatantly at his presence. Guess she doesn't like him either.

He ignores her, despite his obvious intention to annoy her, and he focuses instead on Ken, who leads the conversation.

Apparently, they're doing round-a-bouts – they have no idea where they're going, there's no captain for them to consult, there are no safety rafts, the decks are devoid of humans, and they're unsure of their food supply. It's almost laughable, but Flynn gets a sickening squeeze in his stomach when he really sits down to process everything. If they're already _this_ unsure of their motives from the start, they actually might die within the next two weeks. He's about to voice this to the group, but a hand grapples at his arm.

It's the kid whose face he couldn't recgonise. He distinctly remembers Yakusuga going on a hunt for students they might've missed in the cabins. This must be the last one.

The boy holds out a book, the edges tattered and yellowed with time. It is unbelievably thick, and there are a few pages where Flynn can see is only half-covered with ink. It's an extreme waste of environmental resource.

The boy points to a page – no, to a few characters scattered on the side of the page. Flynn struggles to read it, only slightly, mostly because it's been scrawled so messily, and also because Kanji isn't exactly his strongest forte.

 _Aeron Murakami, Ultimate Palaeontologist._

Flynn nods firmly. Aeron – that's easy to remember.

Aeron hands him a pen and nudges the book at him. Flynn glances at him curiously. Can this boy talk? He tilts his head, which allows the boy to catch on immediately.

 _I'm deaf,_ he writes easily, and passes the pen to Flynn.

Flynn only blinks for a second before he gives Aeron an assertive nod and proceeds to introduce himself. _I'm Flynn Taggart. I'm American and the Ultimate Environmentalist._

Aeron glances back at him and smiles as he tucks the book away.

When their exchange is done, Hisakawa knocks his elbow away from her face, where he was leaning over her to write in Aeron's book. A sharp spike of anger shoots through his body and flames his nerves, but he wills himself to deflate and ignore her poisonous touch that still lingers over his skin – first impressions are very important, after all. He may look like a monster, but he doesn't have to act like one.

* * *

If Aeron thought the strangeness would end at Hisakawa, he was wrong. Flynn has a space marine-like helmet locked on tightly over his head, the opacity of the screen obscuring his face. His clothes, too, are oddly out of place, with a green t-shirt stretched taut across his bulky chest, layered with a olive bomber vest that shifts and turns at every slight movement. He wears khaki cargo shorts with hiking gaiters that cover his shins and brown hiking boots. He looks every bit intimidating – his large bulk and muscle makes him look like he could snap Aeron's spine with two fingers.

Aeron puts the book away, wishing to confide in the familiarity of Yakusuga's soothing presence and warm smiles.

Just as he thinks this, Yakusuga jolts and slams Aeron's heart against his ribs. She quickly gestures for the book, and Aeron hands it over with tight fingers.

 _The bread! It's going to burn!_

Aeron barely has time to finish reading before she drags him up by the elbow and starts stumbling out the door.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you to Agatha Christie, who enlightened me to an effective 3** **rd** **person omniscient. Thank you to everyone in the discord chat – for motivating me to push further and pursue more. I'll be re-writing the 1** **st** **chapter so it has the style of the 2** **nd** **chapter. Every OC will get a special monologue upon introduction. Don't be confused; the protagonist of this story is still Aeron Murakami.**

 **Pretty Palutena: Thank you so much for your kindness and support thus far! Writing Pauline is an honour.**

 **TheRoseShadow21: I'll be describing Hana more thoroughly when I re-write the first chapter! Thank you very very much for your patience and interest so far! Ah, and the revealing of the names is so that the audience can deliberately view those characters in different ways to how maybe Aeron sees them or how they view themselves. It's also to evoke more tension and build faster dynamics between certain characters. It certainly loses its surprise factor, though.**

 **Kuranoir: Thank you for telling me to look after myself. Thank you so much for your patience!**

 **liammarklh88: I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm trying to make up for it by giving Amai a lot of exposure. Thank you so much for staying interested despite my month long retreat. Sasaki isn't deaf, haha, she's a linguist who knows Japanese sign language. Thank you, again!**

 **RioA: I'm glad you think Hanako is sweet! Please continue to think that way! (if you want to). Thank you for giving me your interpretation on all the characters - it gives me an idea of where I should step next.**

 **TheVolcanicGal: Thank you so so much for your interest and for providing me a character as amazing as Hanako. She's so fun to write, mainly because I'm using so much figurative language, haha.**

 **hambor12: Thank you! Flynn is very, very interesting, haha. I live for your sense of humour.**

 **CrimsonSpiderLily: Thank you very much for the detailed review! I hope Shizuka was portrayed to your satisfaction. Thank you for your support and kind words! Thank you!**


	7. Reset and Relent the Regretful Resent p3

**Reset and Relent the Regretful Resent** **| pt 3**

 **AN: I added Tsukina and Hana's POVs into the first chapter (not prologue). Please read that first. Next chapter will be Riku and Pauline.**

When Yakusuga throws open the doors of the bakery, Aeron is swallowed up in smoke. He frantically waves the air in front of him while his eyes water and sting. Yakusuga struggles to hold the door open while she coughs and lets the air filter out. Aeron tries to peer past the murky, grey smoke that twirls and dances mockingly in his vision. Did the bread burn that badly?

Yakusuga, coming to some sort of conclusion, tugs a silver table to the door and holds it open, while she hastily rushes over to the ovens and starts ripping them open individually. Each pull ripples the smoke around her, before eventually, the last one she opens erupts more smoke into the room. Yakusuga starts coughing violently, and Aeron pulls her away from the smoke and out of the room, before they both inhale too much. Aeron watches as the smoke curls above their heads and dissipates into the ocean air. It seems endless. Bread should definitely not burn to this extent, no matter how long it has been left neglected.

Yakusuga grabs his arm and starts tracing words on his palm. _I think it's a faulty oven_ , she writes, _bread doesn't smell like this, or look like that._

Now that she's pointed it out, Aeron notices that the smoke smells putrid. It leaves a tangy, unpleasant taste on his tongue and itches his throat. He nods at Yakusuga. _I think you're right,_ he writes back, _but we'll have to wait until the smoke clears_.

Reaching a mutual understanding, they step far from the kitchen. Suddenly, Yakusuga turns around, and Aeron follows her movement.

* * *

 **TOBOE KURESHI**

My God, he's crazy. He's done it now—he's really done it. He really did it. He exhales and watches as his breath darts away in a flash of grey. The cigarette between his fingers is getting hard to hold—being so small and tiny and…Toboe smothers it onto the rails and drops it into the ocean. He watches as the waves slug and bash the stub until it entirely disappears into the blue.

With his cigarette gone, he smells something different—something rancid and uncomfortably familiar. It smells like cremation. He sniffs the air again. No, that can't be right, he must be wrong. He must be wrong. However, when the same bitter, repugnant odour hits his nose again, he knows he's right. Unfortunately, he's right. This is a smell he's too familiar with to ever forget or mistake. He's right, and he's happy about that, he's always happy about being right, but this kind of happiness brings along dread, dread heavy and big enough to sink his stomach and make him want to hurl. The dread slows his feet, yet quickens his heart, and soon, he's turning towards the kitchen, pulse pounding and feet dragging towards two teenagers standing by the entrance.

"Excuse me," he requests, and taps the young lady on the shoulder.

When she turns, the boy besides her turns, too. Toboe is suddenly overwhelmed with the boy's expression. He's frowning. Is he angry? Angry at Toboe? What did he do to this boy? Obviously something bad; the boy looks like he's about to _kill_ Toboe. No, he needs to stop. There's something more important at hand. He remembers someone telling him that he misinterprets neutral expressions. Maybe this is one.

Right, the girl and the smoke. He was concerned about the smoke.

He glances at the girl, with chocolate stains on her dress and pins holding up her blonde hair. She's obviously some sort of cook. She seems like a good person.

"Are you cooking something, Miss?" he asks politely.

The girl glances at the kitchen, then back at him. "Yes, I was making bread, but I think one of the ovens was faulty…"

While the girl trails off, Toboe takes another look into the kitchen. He's not a genius, well, he thinks he's not, but it definitely doesn't look like an issue a 'faulty oven' might cause, and definitely doesn't smell like one, either. "Did you know," he begins, and looks both of them in the eyes, "that a person can last two to ten minutes in a fire? Of course, it depends on the heat and density and a lot of other things." When they don't reply, Toboe doesn't let his anxiety deter him. "I believe I can last fifteen minutes in there, considering the fact that it looks like you're airing out the room and nothing is on fire, I hope?" He turns to the girl and finds himself struck by her purple eyes. He blinks several times. He needs to focus. He needs to give them direct answers. "I don't think the problem is a faulty oven."

The girl stuns. Well, she stops and stutters for a second. Toboe has trouble reading the emotions that flash by her face. Eventually, he watches as it settles into curiosity. "Who are you?" she asks.

Toboe feels his pulse rising. Why do people always ask this damn question? He hates it. He hates the way these words string together, how people always wait for an answer, no matter how long he stays silent. Don't they realise he's just as confused and curious as they are? He doesn't really know who he is, so why does everyone ask him like the answer should be obvious?

Toboe stops and mentally kicks himself. He's getting out of hand again. The girl seems nice—seems like a good person. He can say it. "I don't really know who I am," he answers honestly. The girl makes a face. Fearing judgement, he stammers out his next sentence. "B-But everyone calls me Toboe. Kureshi Toboe," he quickly replies. "Hope's Peak labelled me as the Ultimate Back Alley Doctor."

The girl takes his hand and shakes it feebly. "I'm Yakusuga Amai, the Ultimate Baker." She makes a stiff gesture towards the boy beside her. "This is Murasaki Aeron, the Ultimate Palaeontologist."

Toboe takes Yakusuga's hand and presses his lips lightly to the tips of her knuckles. Then, he turns to Murasaki and firmly grasps his hand while his fingers wrap around the boy's wrist. "Pleasure to meet you both." He smiles and tilts his head towards the kitchen. "I'll be right back."

Toboe pushes into the grey smog with his elbow over his mouth and nose. He briefly scans the room for the source of the smoke. He remembers Yakusuga saying one of the ovens looked faulty…

The last oven on the left slowly billows black smoke that _definitely_ is not a resultant of burnt bread. Toboe has only lived so long, but he recognises trouble when he sees it. Feeling uneasy, he treads towards the oven and glances at it from a distance.

His pulse surges.

* * *

 **ISAAC GRAYSON**

He's forgotten how nice it is to have someone to work with.

"That stick looks ideal for fly swatting," he says, and gestures towards a chair leg.

His companion tears his eyes away from the door hinge to look at what Isaac is pointing at. Judging by the flash of his eyes, he gets it immediately. Isaac beams. He never has to explain anything to Saito; that guy picks up on _everything_.

"The leg's detached," Saito observes, and crouches down scrutinise the chair. He grabs it and wobbles it a bit. It tilts dangerously and almost falls on him. Isaac gets ready to pounce and knock the chair away in the case that it does fall. However, it's unlikely, because Saito is now tilting it gently, and has most of his strength focused on his upper arm, which rests on seat, judging by his stance. Eventually, he slides the leg back. "That's odd," he states.

"But probably irrelevant," Isaac counters. The chair leg is hollow, but he's not about to bring that up. He scans the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Nothing of interest. Another plain room. "I'm so bored."

Saito suddenly glances up. "Precisely," he states. "You're bored because there's no stimulus. We're in a moderately warm room with no items of personal interest and no windows."

Isaac rolls his eyes. "Err, yeah, I noticed that when we went into the first room. This is the last one. We've been through sixteen rooms." It's painfully obvious, unless, Saito is going somewhere with this, in which Isaac is already engaged and interested.

Saito glances up, face grim. "This is practically-"

"A death cell for encouraging reckless behaviour and instigating despair!" Isaac finishes. He tries to avoid thinking of the implications of that. "Darn. Do I have to stay outside my dorm at all times? Do I have to gaze into the ocean and pretend I'm in a sad music video? Do I have to re-enact _Titanic_ five times over, daily, just to remain stimulated?"

Saito blinks several times.

Isaac sighs. "Rhetorical question—questions. Don't answer them." He pauses. "Except for the Titanic one. Will you be my Jack?"

Saito smiles politely. "Of course."

Suddenly, the ship rocks probably twenty-three degrees more than it usually does. A normal person wouldn't notice the difference, but there's nothing normal about Isaac's sudden imploding stomach and whirling nausea. He grips onto a bench, or something with a hard, metallic corner. Probably a desk. "I hope this ship hits an iceberg," he forces out, while he clutches onto his stomach.

Saito rushes over and brushes a firm hand across Isaac's shoulders. "You'll be okay," he consoles. "Don't say that."

Isaac waves the air in front of him, as the ship tilts unsteadily. Oh boy. He's really feeling it. He grips the desk tighter. He _really_ doesn't want to soil his brand new grey slacks. "I'm going to die, Saito."

Saito actually flinches and startles. "What? I'm pretty sure it's just motion sick-"

"Death wraps its cold, cold hands around my neck." When the other boy simply stares at him with an unfathomable expression, Isaac continues. "Oh, oh, I feel myself slipping away. You now have a moral obligation to tell my heroics to the world. Make sure it's front page, yeah? I trust you to get my good angle."

Saito chuckles modestly. "Of course." Suddenly, the boy freezes and clenches hard onto Isaac's shoulder. Isaac tries not to wince. "Do you hear that?" Saito whispers, though there's no obligation to.

"What? My pulse fading?" Isaac jokes, while he tries to steady himself. "Already ten steps ahead of you."

Saito doesn't loosen his grip. "No, it sounds like," he pauses and stares out the door, "like someone's screaming."

Isaac straightens his back and concentrates on the sound. It's faint, but he can hear startled yelps that echo along the corridor. "A young male, tall, Japanese," he says, stating off facts before he has time to register them. "Probably a student."

Saito doesn't glance back. "A student we haven't met yet."

Isaac takes off running, Saito not far behind him.

"From the kitchen!" Saito shouts, as Isaac turns the corner.

* * *

 **SAITO TAIRA**

Ever since Saito woke up in a dark room, with his hands bound and stomach bruised, he has felt nothing short of apprehension. Saito has been trying to collect himself for the sake of stable judgement, but it's getting difficult with the eerie inactivity. He supposes he should be glad that no one is hurt, or that no one's life is currently under threat, but he feels like he's about to have the rug pulled from underneath his feet at any moment now. He's been unsure about letting his peers wander the ship, unmonitored, unsure about leaving Hana in the restaurant with strangers. He is hesitant to follow Hayashi's demands of searching the middle deck, and hesitant to have only one partner alongside him. Unfortunately, Isaac Grayson can't ease his worry, no matter how perky he is.

However, when Saito hears the screams, he finds himself discarding all of his doubts.

"From the kitchen!" he yells, but Isaac is already turning towards the sound, prior his warning. His stomach aches and reminds him of his bruises, but he knows the ache of unresolved injustice will hurt more. This is the moment he was afraid of. He sincerely hopes it's nothing—maybe a false alarm or someone messing around. He'd rather be angry and annoyed than find someone hurt.

As they run down the hallway towards the kitchen, Saito sees a young boy in a lab coat, yelling angrily to two other students, and a lot of smoke.

"What is the issue, ladies and gentlemen?" Isaac announces, as they approach the three.

"Isaac! Taira!" Yakusuga exclaims, as evident relief crosses her face. "Thank goodness you're here."

Saito quickly surveys area and the two new faces. He desperately needs to ask questions, but it looks like Yakusuga is frantic to tell him something.

"What happened?" he encourages, while Isaac moves to talk to the other two.

Yakusuga licks her lips and clasps onto her elbows. "Dr Kureshi said he saw a-a body…in the oven."

Saito wordlessly swallows. The bad feeling returns, stronger than previously. It lodges itself like a stone in the pit of his stomach. "Is Dr Kureshi sure?"

Yakusuga opens her mouth to reply, but it is overtaken by a new voice, from the boy in the lab coat. "I'm not mistaken," the boy replies.

Saito remains silent, wordlessly allowing Kureshi to continue.

"It's these two!" Kureshi accuses, pointing at the other boy and Yakusuga. "They were the last ones to enter and exit the kitchen, prior to the smoke."

Yakusuga opens her mouth wordlessly as her eyes water. The other boy stares on confusedly.

Isaac steps in between the accusing finger and the two suspects. "Now, now pretty boy," he says, and puts his palms in front of him. Saito sees irate anger flash by Kureshi's face. Isaac continues. "It's too soon to place any blame on them-"

"Don't call me pretty boy," Kureshi interrupts as his fists tremble. He stomps once, defiantly, and then visibly reels himself in. "How do you know it's not them? How can I take your word?"

Saito can see Isaac straining for a reply, so he steps in. "Look, we want to help you," he begins, and is careful to eliminate his neutral expression, replacing it with something more open. He directs his next sentence at the other two. "We want to help everyone." He turns back to Kureshi, who holds his expression guardedly. "So, we need you to calmly explain what you saw." Saito waits as Kureshi regulates his breathing, an exercise he sees practised often with people who have a history with mental health. He curbs his curiosity.

"I can't," Kureshi finally says. Saito sees Kureshi wrestling with his emotions, so he decides not to pursue.

"That's fine," he replies, as the doctor walks away.

Behind him, he hears Isaac huff. "Not asking?" he inquires, as Saito turns to face him. "Well, you're the investigative journalist—I trust you." Isaac tugs on his goggles and peers into the smoke, which has mostly dissipated, by now.

Saito, still tense, turns to Yakusuga for more questions.

* * *

Aeron watches as a boy with purple hair, tied into a small ponytail, converses with Yakusuga. To say he's confused is a massive understatement. He tries to follow along with what they're saying, but the other boy moves his lips too minimally for him to catch anything. He can understand some of Yakusuga's replies—something about the boy in the lab coat who walked off earlier.

Aeron decides to study the two newcomers before they share introductions. The boy by the kitchen door is incredibly tall, though not nearly as tall as Flynn. Despite the summer air, the boy has on a sandy brown coat, with a small flap at the back, which flutters like a short cape when he moves. He has on a deerstalker cap the same colour of his coat, which obscures some of his side swept blonde hair. His goggles are in place, but Aeron is pretty sure he had green eyes.

The boy with the purple hair has it cut in a straight fringe that hangs just above his eyebrows. It's tied into a neat, small ponytail that shifts very slightly when he turns. He has on a plain, beige cardigan over a white collared shirt. He wears dark, brown pants, and they stop at his ankles, revealing quite an appalling pair of unicorn socks. His feet are slotted into black trainers.

Eventually, the boy seems to sense eyes on him, because he stops talking and locks his gaze with Aeron. His eyes are almond shaped and dark brown, to the point where they almost look black. There's a gaping, wide scar that stretches across the bridge of his nose. Aeron tries not to stare too closely.

Yakusuga must've explained his hearing impairment, because the boy's eyes light up in understanding. Aeron hands him his book and pen.

Surprisingly, the boy refuses with a polite shake of his head, and starts signing in Japanese. _Taira Satio. I'm the Ultimate Investigative Journalist_ , _you are?_

Slightly taken aback, Aeron introduces himself.

Taira nods with a compassionate smile and continues to sign, quite fluently. _I'll introduce him as well, as he seems to be busy._ Saito gestures towards the boy at the door. _He's Isaac Grayson, the Ultimate Consulting Detective_. Suddenly, both Yakusuga and Taira turn towards the door—Aeron realises that Isaac called out. Taira rushes towards the kitchen, while Yakusuga glances worriedly at Aeron.

Yakusuga beckons for the book. _They're going to investigate the kitchen_ , she writes, on a blank page.

Aeron raises a brow. _Why?_ he writes back. _Is the bread bad?_

Yakusuga gives him a look. _Never._

Confused, Aeron wordlessly asks for an explanation.

 _Kureshi, the boy in the lab coat, said he saw a dead body in one of the ovens_. Yakusuga replies, her face drained of blood.

* * *

 **TAIKI HINO**

The wind lashes at his brown hair and mercilessly forces him to blink moisture back into his eyes. From the top deck, Taiki can see the empty captain's cabin, the soulless side-walks, and the purposeless pool. The barrenness of such an elaborate vehicle makes him feel unsteady. It's almost like he's on a ghost ship.

He shivers as a particularly cold breeze passes through him.

He immediately locks on.

It's a cold front, which usually indicates low-pressure. Cold fronts typically move from northwest to southeast. The wind hitting his back means the ship is travelling southeast. Assuming they left from Japan, it's most likely this ship is crossing the Pacific Ocean.

Having some sense of where they are in the world, Taiki feels slightly more at ease, but not put to rest entirely. He should report this newfound information back to Hayashi, as requested. He wanders back to the descending staircase, where Yamazaki waits patiently, fiddling with his three golden bangles—one of them dangles a small panda trinket. His wispy, orange hair sways delicately in the wind and displays his defined freckles, cast around the pale bridge of his nose. His white shirt whips with his hair, though his jeans cling tightly to his legs. Yamazaki holds on tightly to his blue newsboy cap, so as to not loose it to the wind.

Yamazaki glances up when he approaches, and a slow smile stretches across his face. "Anything new?"

Taiki nods and gestures for Yamazaki to descend the stairs. It's too windy to talk up here. Their feet clunk down the metal stairs and thump across the wooden floor of the middle deck. Surprisingly, Yamzaki wears orange boat shoes—a bold fashion statement, though it is probably to match his hair. However, it's not like he can judge, as he, too, has on an orange overall. They reach the middle deck. It is much more calmer here. "I think we're travelling southeast—across the Pacific Ocean," Taiki informs, while they walk leisurely down the hallway. "Thank you very much for waiting." He finishes his sentence with a small bow.

Yamazaki's amber eyes widen slightly. He tries to brush some hair away from his eye, but it falls back after some futile effort. "Oh, you didn't have to bow," he explains, flustered. "It's alright. The view was nice."

Taiki recalls the lifelessness of the ship, and how unsettled it made him. He glances away from Yamazaki and down at the floorboards. The view was not at all _nice_ , but Taiki wasn't going to voice that.

"How did you know?" Yamazaki asks, as they resume their walk.

Taiki keeps his eyes trained on the floor. "Um. Did you feel the cold breeze earlier?" From the corner of his eye, he can see Yamazaki nod. He continues. "That's called a cold front—in summer. That's how I knew we were going southeast."

Yamazaki makes an understanding noise. "Not going to ask for specifics, but that was pretty cool."

They rapidly descend into silence. The suddenness of it hits Taiki harder than the wind. He can't find ways to pick up the conversation while they walk.

"That was a pun," Yamazaki murmurs, so quietly that Taiki almost missed it.

Taiki blinks. "It-it was?"

The comment seems to make Yamazaki shrink. "Yes."

Taiki doesn't know how to react. Should he laugh? He feels like unprompted laughter this late would make it more awkward. He settles into his default: impersonalised politeness.

"I'm sorry I didn't catch it," he apologises, and is about to bow until Yamazaki interrupts him by flailing his arms.

"No, don't." Yamazaki turns crimson. "I'm sorry for making you listen to such a failure of a joke."

Glancing at Yamazaki's expression, Taiki almost laughs. "It wasn't your fault."

Yamazaki smiles wide at their predicament. He turns to gaze at the sea. "I thought being the Ultimate Weather Forecaster just required you sniff the air, or something."

Taiki huffs a small laugh, but his mind is still stuck on the implications of a low-pressure system.

It doesn't take much consideration to realise a storm's brewing.

* * *

 **JUUDAI YAMAZAKI**

Juudai almost feels serene—comfortable with the monochrome waves and sweet ocean air. His quiet, almost one-sided, conversation with Hino is nearly enough to push the pressure of this whole crisis to the back of his mind. Hino is a winsome boy with a vertically striped short-sleeve shirt that defines his small figure. He wears overalls, but doesn't wear them properly—the left side hangs over his shoulder, not on it. Hino doesn't make a move to fix or right them, which leads Juudai to believe it's loose on purpose. He pairs his sneakers with light socks. He completes his whole outfit with a dark wristband on his left hand.

Juudai wonders if Hino dresses as modestly as he sounds. He knows colours define a person, or at least, the surface of their personality. Does Hino wear natural colours? Or maybe something melancholic, like blue.

When they open the door to the restaurant, everyone is sitting at a round table, murmuring quietly. Chairs are gathered and clustered to ensure they all fit. The first thing Juudai notices is that _everyone_ is not _everyone_. "Where are the rest?" he calls out, while scanning the corners of the room. Even Watanabe has shifted into their messy circle.

Hisakawa locks eyes with him and wordlessly demands his full attention before she's even spoken. "Still looking around," she answers, with a heavy eye roll. "Taking their time."

Hino shuffles over to Hayashi, possibly to relay information.

"They're 'taking their time' because they're investigators, and they analyse everything _thoroughly_ ," Hayashi asserts, before his attention is grabbed by Hino.

"Debateable," Hisakawa retorts with a smirk.

Surprisingly, she does not carry out with her underlying threat, which Juudai is grateful for. It would ruin the current team dynamic, which is just barely hanging steady. He can feel their tension like waves—like a thin veil that dangles above them. These waves squeeze his chest and tighten his throat when someone speaks too forcibly.

There are more than just the investigators missing, but Juudai fears asking again will re-ignite the pressure of his peers.

He pulls out a chair from between Takahiro and Watanabe. The former welcomes him with a wobbly smile, while the latter continues to scribble into his book. When Juudai glances over, he notices that Watanabe is not writing in Japanese.

"What language is that?" he inquires, while trying to not lean in too closely.

Without halting his hand, Watanabe raises a brow. "Latin. Are you interested?"

Juudai's eyes widen. Here he is, barely able to speak any language other than Japanese, and Watanabe strolls in, able to _write_ in Latin? "I don't know what you're writing about, but yes, it does seem interesting," he agrees.

Watanabe doesn't waste a minute. "Anatomy, of course," he replies. He taps his foot—his left foot on the ground a few times. Juudai finds that there's no particular pattern—but it's slow and careful. It's a common subconscious habit, usually occurring during times of vexation or discomfort. However, since Watanabe seems to take his work very seriously, the foot tapping might be because of the sudden, subtle shift in group dynamics, or the change in having Juudai sit beside him. Suddenly, Watanabe stops writing. There's a pause, then, "stop that."

Juudai blinks rapidly. He glances around, but everyone is busy engaged in conversation. Watanabe was talking to him. "Stop what?"

He turns back just in time to see the anatomist roll his eyes very minimally. "Stop observing me." Before Juudai can reply, Watanabe continues. "Though I suppose you can't help it, being the Ultimate Sociologist. Just as I am drawn to science and anatomy, you are drawn to humans." When Juudai opens his mouth to provide input, the anatomist holds up a finger that quiets him immediately. "Be silent. I must get this done."

Juudai nods and turns around to talk to Takahiro, who's fiddling with a napkin on the table. She's making small popping noises with her mouth—a habit she possibly fixates out of boredom. "Takahiro," he says. When she turns to him, he returns her smile from earlier. "How are you faring?"

Before he can get a reply, a blaring alarm shoots off.

He immediately twists in his seat to search for the noise. His back is to the group, but he can still feel the sharp spike in tension. He locates a speaker just behind the restaurant door.

It screeches words that chill him to his bones.

" _A body has been discovered! Everybody, report to the kitchen!_ "

For a few nerve-twisting seconds, no one does anything.

At the speaker's second warning, Hayashi stands.

"It's nothing," he announces.

Judging by everyone's expressions, no one believes him.

* * *

 **AMAI YAKUSUGA**

Amai grew up in a busy city.

She remembered feeling almost trapped—contained in her tiny bakery, overtaken by towers of large co-operate and commercial buildings. She knew her small, little store couldn't stand any longer against everyone else around her.

She remembered painfully, tragically, just how close she and her family were to loosing everything—even when they barely had anything to begin with. She remembered being unable to shake the troubled feelings she had—remembered her determination to help her family to the best of her ability.

She remembered how she, in the little free time she had left, changed her fate.

The feeling returns now, as her classmates crowd around the kitchen, wary, anxious, and suspicious.

Isaac stands near the entry, smile waning. Taira stands beside him, trying to calmly reason with Hayashi. Amai can clearly see the stiffness in the investigator's shoulders.

"P-Please stand back," she calls to the cluster. Many ignore her, but she continues. "We need to give them room to explain."

Just as she fears that no one may be listening, Yamazaki speaks up.

"I agree with Yakusuga," he announces clearly. "It will only make the situation more stressful if we continue to be this disorganised."

"And I don't recommend inhaling too much of this," Watanabe chides, with his hand over his nose.

Immediately, the group shift from the kitchen, and stand scattered across the hallway. She holds on tightly to Aeron—a promise to explain everything later.

Suddenly, Isaac speaks up. "Where's pretty boy? The announcement said everyone had to report here."

Taira places a hand on his shoulder. "We'll have to continue without him."

Amai scans the crowd, and spots Pauline comforting Suzuki. Relief surges through her. Just as she's about to turn away, Pauline catches her gaze and smiles warmly. She melts a bit.

"So, what did the announcement mean?" Hayashi starts.

Amai sees Taira inhale slowly. Despite the pressure of many eyes, he is succinct with his explanation. "There is a folded corpse in one of the ovens. Female." He staggers with his next words. "Natsuki Tsukina."

There is a ripple of silence in the crowd; no one dares utter a word, least the reality becomes true. Amai hears her pulse pounding in her ears.

"She was first discovered by Kureshi Toboe, who is not present, followed Isaac and myself." With each word, the sky over their heads presses down harder. "We'll wait for the room to clear, and for Kureshi to return before we perform an autopsy."

Amai can almost hear it: the inevitable crack in the group's dynamic—the puncture of a wound that leaks water into the boat.

"Stop!" Hayashi suddenly yells. He holds an arm out above his head, demanding silence and rapt attention. "Collect yourselves. Don't panic." A lone man, backed up by no one, as scared and worried as everyone, fights for control and guidance over students barely holding themselves together.

Amai sees the group glancing around for Natsuki, sees the impending doom on their faces as they find her missing. She does the same—just to be sure. She double checks all individual faces, but still can't find the occupational therapist.

She offers Aeron a squeeze, just to regain some sense of stability and normality.

She sees Pauline move worriedly over to her, but can't find it in herself to be joyous. The model places a hand on her shoulder. "Amai," she consoles, voice soft and sweet. "Are you alright?"

Amai doesn't feel like lying. She blinks, and hot, sloppy tears trail down her cheek. She doesn't dare whimper or sniffle. "No," she whispers, voice trembling.

* * *

Aeron watches as Hana pushes her way towards him with tears streaked across her pale face. Her fingers tremble as she frantically tries to communicate with him. _Something bad happened_ , she signs. _Na-_

She stops and inhales shakily. Aeron can see her small frame tremble with trepidation. Her agitation quickly spreads to Aeron, who, despite being unaware of the situation, feels sick to his stomach. He hesitantly reaches out and grips her hands. They're cold and feeble. When she seems somewhat stable, he releases her and tries to encourage her to continue.

She inhales, once again, though it is less shaky. _There's been a murder,_ she starts. Aeron's blood runs cold. _Natsuki is dead._

Aeron feels his blood slamming underneath his skin. Though he hasn't heard anything in years, it feels as though the ringing in his ears has come back, fraying his nerves and setting his skin alight. Before he can ask for more, Hana freezes and looks fearfully out towards the kitchen. Aeron slowly follows her gaze.

A black and white stuffed teddy bear dances across the deck. Flashing recognition hits Aeron—like a stab of deja vu, but he can't pin it back to its source. He watches in chilling distortion as it opens its mouth, possibly to speak. Aeron grapples for the rails.

He watches as Hayashi lunges towards it, only to be pulled back by Flynn, who fastens a tight grip on the bowler's arm. Aeron watches as Takahiro collapses to the floor and buries her face into her hands. Suzuki reaches down to comfort her, but her knees give and she staggers to the wooden deck. Hisakawa pinches her lips and starts to absentmindedly scratch at her skin. Isaac remains static. Taira keeps his expression empty. Watanabe gnaws at his nails.

Aeron doesn't have to hear to know that no one's talking.

Suddenly, he blinks, and the bear is gone—almost like it was a figment of his spiralling imagination. Hana is too shaky to sign, but from the glisten in her eyes, Aeron can feel her unsaid words seeping into his skin.

 _The killing game has begun_.

 **AN: Thank you, everyone, for bearing with me and for leaving such encouraging reviews! :)**


	8. Chapter 4: END

**Chapter 4 - Ghost Ship**

 **AN: Trigger Warning: autopsy and mild descriptions of a corpse. If you are uncomfortable with this, skip the first, second and fourth paragraphs Riku's POV. Rating has changed to M.**

* * *

There's a dagger suspended in front of Aeron. A sliver of a spider's thread dangles it in the air by it's blade; the hilt faces his palm tantalisingly. Perhaps it's the sudden darkness of the hallway, or the ghost of eyes on his back, or the cold breath of threat around the corners, but without comprehension or second thought, he grabs the dagger and holds the blade outward. The handle holds an expectation of a smooth leather grip, but his hands feel nothing, almost like he's grasping air. His only confirmation that the dagger exists is its silent visual, the danger and apprehension of a clean blade real and present. The spider's thread retreats and slides to the floor, the end of it abruptly severed. Aeron feels a weight in his hand that shouldn't be tangible for something that seems like an apparition.

Then, Aeron starts walking, or maybe, the dagger moves and he follows. He steps over the spider thread and wanders down the almost black hallway. The dagger is most definitely an illusion conjured by his high-strung, feverish brain, but he has a hard time convincing himself that when the weight feels so very real and capable of _. Suddenly, he comes to a stop, or the dagger does. Looking closer in the dark, Aeron can see red splotches on the blade that were not there previously. As he continues to stare, the splotches grow wider, accumulating on the blade before it's coats the dagger, slathering it in red, overwhelming it's width so it drips onto the floorboards. Each splatter is an announcement in the dark, loud where his footsteps aren't, and Aeron feels forcibly frightened. He desperately wishes for the floor to conceal the sound, to hide the guilt that surfaces from nowhere. Aeron hasn't done anything, but the red is unmistakably blood-

The dagger is gone, and instead, he feels the real, tangible warmth of a hand that slides into his. He glances up, and there's Yakusuga, with her smile and unshakeable radiance. Aeron feels a ray of hope, a streak of comfort, then she collapses. In inconceivable terror, he drops to the floor and clutches at her hands.

"Why would you-" she screams says. Aeron hears her words with perfect clarity, her tone resonating through the hall with the exact same tingle of bells he always imagines when she talks. However, her voice no longer sounds like a figment of his imagination, but rather something that cuts through his ears with veridical lucidness.

He withdraws his hands. "What are you talking about?" he asks, and that's when he sees the wound on her stomach. He jolts, then he realises the warmth he feels is not Yakusuga's hands, but rather, the hilt of a red dagger that drips ominous warnings onto the floor. Suddenly, Aeron feels a foreign object pressed against the open vulnerability of his back. The pressure breaks through his skin and pushes deep into his spine, tearing seamlessly into his flesh, weaving past his muscles, snapping his nerves, flaming his-

Aeron wakes. His eyes are edged with the black of a retreating nightmare. Very soon, he forgets what he was so scared about.

Yakusuga's hand hovers over the small of his back, which must be why he feels the promise of threat and ache lingering from his dream. She notices him stirring, and turns to him with a cheerless smile that's so strained it looks more like a crack across her expression. Aeron takes pity on her, on himself, to be caught victims of such a dire situation, but nevertheless, he shifts cautiously away from her hand. Yakusuga catches on quickly and withdraws her palm with something akin to shame.

They're currently gathered back in the restaurant. Hayashi has his hands clenched white against the back of a chair, where he opts to stand instead of sitting. Hana has stopped trying to translate Hayashi's tempered words for Aeron ages ago, since he stopped paying attention. He has already passed his initial panic in a hazy stupor. Now, he only has a foreboding sense of detachment and a slight warriness of the murder right next door. Out of his fog of fear and trepidation, he feels the a pinprick of irritation that comes from uselessness and powerlessness in a desperate situation. What is Hayashi trying to accomplish, rounding them all up in a room, when one of them is the _culprit_? How are players like Pauline, Watanabe, and Flynn able to remain so eerily calm after witnessing one of them - a classmate who was breathing only mere minutes ago - die?

Hayashi slams his hand down on a table and Aeron can imagine the crack of his anger whipping through the room. His classmates flinch. _One of them is a murderer_ , his mind hisses, eliminating any semblance of sympathy. Yamazaki, who Aeron discovered fuzzily from Yakusuga, is the Ultimate Sociologist, stands, possibly to play peace-maker, but the forceful relaxation of his shoulders betray just how tense he's feeling. By the hardened faces of the students around the room, no one is in the mood to be comforted.

* * *

 **RIKU WATANABE**

Riku has no problem with corpses, be it fresh or decaying, but killing is something that is far more brutal and inhumane, something done with careful thought and an undoubted decision. It is absolutely unforgivable and she cannot stand aside to watch it simply happen without trying to do something about it. Once Riku lays out her tools, it is easy to forget that Natsuki was once a former classmate. On the steel table, the girl is merely another lump of flesh with seized body functions, no matter how pressing her potential identity is. A thing Riku finds awfully convenient are the tables, all of which are stainless steel, with elevating pedals and sinks attached to the left-ends, reminiscent of autopsy work surfaces. It's eerie, how the kitchen _only_ has these tables, almost a murder was expected to occur here.

The murderer clearly knows what they're doing. Either that, or they had half the mind to deform the body in what Riku likes to think is the most exasperating, irksome way of removing identification from a corpse. Fingerprints are null, hair is non-existent, and she doesn't suppose everyone carries their dental records around like a wallet. Fortunately, everyone, including the potential culprit, is trapped in that damned, tiny room with Hayashi keeping an eye on who leaves and enters, so she can start checking for DNA, should the chance arrive that the murderer has left some form of evidence behind. She doesn't have the proper equipment to reach a conclusion with bone marrow testing, and she can't help but wonder if the murderer took that into consideration when performing the task.

First, she has to determine if the body really belongs to Natsuki, and analyse if the bare basics of information provided by that wretched bear is true. If she's lucky, she might even discover who performed the murder. She hopes, almost desperately, that her autopsy doesn't come to questionable answers and sceptic revelations. Riku can work, she can try and she can deduce, but if her information comes out as flawed or easily disputable, her trust as the Ultimate Anatomist becomes void. The last thing she wants is for people to doubt her integrity or intelligence. Unfortunately, as gratifying as her choices are now, she has no room or time to let her thoughts wander through what-ifs and maybes. Riku snaps on her gloves and clears her mind. She takes in the last, miniscule whiff of chemicals and burnt flesh, before it all vanishes when she pulls her surgical mask to her nose. She must work quickly - the investigators said they would shortly join her at the crime scene once they gather everyone's collective alibis. With the obnoxiousness of their chatter and theories, she doubts she'll be able to perform at her peak.

Riku goes through the fundamentals before anything else. There are two obvious options for her as of current: she can either start with analysing body structure to determine the age and sex of the recently deceased person, or she can start by searching for remains of evidence. Ethics aside, Riku thinks it's easier and faster to identify the body before she becomes lost in her work. Riku lifts the subject's arm in effort to determine the proportions of the body. There's small resistance, when its arm sticks to white, burned lumps of fat and drying blood, but she eventually pries it none-too-gently from its torso. The subject is thin, smaller than what one would call average, _which_ , Riku thinks grimly, _makes it the right size to fit into something as cramped as that oven_. Isaac and Taira checked the oven dials. It was still ticking down from ten minutes. The heat was left on approximately 250 degrees celsius, and according to Yakusuga's testimony, left on for a little over thirty minutes. Riku grabs some measuring tape and pulls it along the length of the subject. A little under 147 centimeters. Considering the fact that the body was in the oven long enough to evaporate body fluids, it must've shrunken down quite a bit. If Riku were to take an estimate, the body should've been around 150 centimeters. Natsuki was 152 centimeters and was also a small individual. However, this is not sufficient enough to reach a flawless conclusion. Natsuki could've been easily replaced with someone of similar proportions. The real Ultimate Occupational Therapist could've be removed away from the scene, hidden somewhere, and this could be a hoax to scare them all into stress and fear.

Riku grits her teeth and snaps the tape away. It is not her job to speculate answers - that's for the investigators. What she must do is provide hard evidence, and she won't be able to do that if she continues to think about irrelevant alternative solutions.

There's a creak of the door being shoved open, and Riku doesn't glance up, assuming it's her unwanted companions. However, there's no chatter, or the sound of her name being called out. When she looks away from examining the subject's earlobes - which are pierced, another piece of evidence that points to the subject being Natsuki - and stiffens when she realises she does not recognise the person at the door. The intruder appears to be a tall male in a white lab coat. None of the students sitting inside the restaurant match his description.

"I read the report on the tablet," the unfamiliar person continues, seeing no issue with his sudden interference. "I'm here to help with the autopsy."

Riku remains ridgid. No one else should be capable of an in depth analysis other than herself. "Who are you?" she asks cautiously. She has a scalpel near the subject's head. Should worse come to worse, she has something to defend herself with.

The male tilts his head to the side curiously. He sighs, then, out of Riku's realm of expectation, pulls surgical gloves and a mask from the pocket of his lab coat. He slips them on quickly and without fuss. Just the movement alone indicates that this is something he's used to.

"People call me Kureshi Toboe. I'm Hope Peak's Ultimate Back-Alley Doctor." He moves closer and shifts to the other side of the table, where he winces at the sight of the body. "Looks worse, now that it's laid out on a table," he comments lightly. When Riku doesn't let up her stance, his face cracks into a smile. "Lighten up, will you?"

Riku watches as he pulls back the subject's left eyelid. "Why are you here?" she asks. 'Here to help' doesn't provide much context.

Kureshi gives her a look. "I just told you-" He cuts himself off when he sees the scowl on her face. For a second, his face peels back in what seems like absolute panic, before he extraordinary gathers himself. "The detective at the restaurant requested I help. He said you'd be lonely." His tone curls in an almost mocking manner. His eyes twist as he no doubt smiles wryly underneath his mask. "Clearly, that's not the case."

Upon closer examination, Kureshi's eyes are red and swollen. There are thick, dark streaks on his cheeks. He's been crying. However, Riku isn't deterred. She moves back to examine underneath the nails of the subject, demonstrating that she's fully capable of doing this on her own, and that his presence is unwanted. How very much like Isaac to say she needs a companion to help her. "I can do this myself. Go back to the restaurant and tell him he's stupid for thinking otherwise."

To her surprise, Kureshi laughs. _Laughs_. It's short and clipped. "No, you can't," he asserts, and it's like a blow to her head. "You're an anatomist - the limits of your knowledge in this stop at identification. As a doctor, I can do much more than you," he says, and his tone wreaths like a wicked, derisive snake. "Am I wrong?" He tilts his head to the side.

Riku grips tightly onto the edge of the table, dizzy from defensiveness. Her head implodes with blinding indignation. Her teeth grit until they creak. "You underestimate me," she says, and she can imagine her tone is not kind. In the face of sophistication, her patience for virtue shreds when she's being looked down on. "I'm the _Ultimate_ Anatomist. I am capable of much more than you expect." She did not walk over needles of hell, over boundaries of barbed brick walls, over society's deeply rooted sexism and her own self-doubt, just to be undermined in this small moment of judgement.

Kureshi grins. "Good, you've lightened up. Show me what you can do."

Riku wordlessly accepts his challenge. If the investigators come in during her analysis, she doesn't notice, too caught up in medical terminology and the fire of her brain burning faster than it has ever before.

* * *

Eventually, Hayashi reluctantly let them out of the restaurant due to Yamazaki's request. Apparently, it was because keeping them all contained in a room would be too stressful and tense for all members of the class. However, there were conditions to their semi-freedom: they were not to travel to the places which they investigated prior to the incident, and that they were to go with two other classmates who they haven't partnered up with already. The investigators were excluded from these conditions because Isaac wouldn't stop protesting. Unfortunately, that meant Aeron had to seperate with Yakusuga. She gave him a reassuring smile as she left with Suzuki and Hisakawa.

Aeron himself is with Hana and Flynn. Hana effortlessly translates him every flicker of conversation, quick enough to the point that Aeron thinks she's doing it absent-mindedly. Currently, Flynn is suggesting that they investigate the crime scene first, because that's where most of the clues are likely situated. Hana and Aeron agree, and before long, they're off to the kitchen.

 _It's better than walking purposelessly,_ Hana reasons. _I think it'll do us good to focus on something_.

"But will Watanabe let us go anywhere near Natsuki?" Aeron asks this aloud to compensate for Flynn. He can still sense the rasp in his voice due to his wacky throat vibrations, but it's gradually getting better the more he talks.

 _Probably not_ , Flynn replies. _But it's worth a go._

They hesitate in front of the kitchen's metal doors. The reality of what happened is still prominent and raw. When they walk in, they'll see Natsuki, figure deformed beyond recognition. They'll see the soot of crime hanging from the ceiling. They'll smell rancid chemicals and burnt flesh.

Flynn turns to them. Aeron sees his dilated pupils and Hana's creased forehead reflected in the Ultimate Environmentalist's helmet.

 _If you're not up for it, we can check out the helm,_ Flynn suggests instead. Aeron realises their wavering thoughts are just as evident to Flynn as it is to themselves.

Aeron is reluctant on an answer, so Hana replies in his steed. _No, we can do it,_ she says, and straightens up resolutely. _If we can help in some way, we will_.

Flynn nods wordlessly and without further confirmation nudges the door open with ease. Immediately, Aeron is almost blown back by the smell. It's significantly lighter than what it was previously, but it still stings his throat when he inhales too much. He almost staggers back, and would have, if Hana wasn't stepping in alongside Flynn. With an obligation to follow, he, too, walks further into the smoky mess of the kitchen.

Watanabe makes no movement or indication that acknowledges their presence. He's shuffling through a bag with one hand, while the other lies on top of-

Aeron coughs when a sudden exhale is ripped from his throat. Hana flinches and curls in on herself. Flynn doesn't move. He expected that it would be bad, yet nothing could fully prepare him for the sight of Natsuki's limp body. Paired with the smell, Aeron's stomach and throat sting with a barely repressed need to vomit. He tries to shift his eyes, or maybe even relay to Flynn that coming here was a mistake, but he finds himself unable to move from the charred body of a former classmate. He's frozen rigid, his lungs tighten as a cold clamp constricts them.

The disturbance of their movement is enough for Watanabe to tear his eyes from the body to briefly glance at them. There's enough force and irritation in his glare to wordlessly tell them that their presence is a hindrance. Flynn steps forward. He must be asking to examine Natsuki, because Watanabe's scowl only turns disproving. However, Kureshi, the doctor he encountered earlier, who's working across Watanabe, seems happily eager to step aside. Flynn joins him and the doctor immediately starts talking fervently. Watanabe rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores Aeron and Hana and goes back to work.

He turns to Hana and sees her visibly swallow. Her eyes are watery, but no tears have fallen over her lashes yet. He gently taps her shoulder and gestures out the door. Hana's gaze falls to the ground, considering his offer, but she clenches her fists and shakes her head.

 _I can do it_ , she affirms. She looks up. Her gaze turns to steel. _Don't worry about me._

Suddenly, she glances across the room, and her hands start moving in translation. _Come here, you can ask them for details later._

Aeron follows her gaze and his eyes land on Taira, whose face is soft with concern. He waves them over to the ovens. As they get closer, a small frown replaces Taira's friendly expression. He says something to Hana, who resolutely stares back in determination. She replies patiently while placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Taira stops talking, and the frown on his face doesn't shift. Eventually, he sighs and pats her hand as something fond and oddly intimate takes hold of his expression. Aeron, despite not hearing a word, feels like he's intruding on something private. The investigator turns to him, and Aeron doesn't need translation to know what he's saying.

 _Look after her, okay?_

Aeron, stunned to silence, nods.

Taira smiles, looking genuinely happy, and it's like a fresh breath of air in a harrowing situation.

"Where's Isaac?" Aeron asks, spotting the detective's coat draped over Taira's arm. The investigator stops to consider the question.

 _He should be here in...about two seconds, I believe_ , Taira answers ominously. Hana trails off the end of her translation, confused.

Suddenly, the oven snaps open, Hana and Aeron startle as Isaac comes tumbling out with soot and char on his grey waistcoat. He pulls his goggles off and catches himself before he falls while coughing with vigorous energy. Aeron vaguely manages to catch him saying, 'you can open it from inside!'.

Hana blinks, flabbergasted, and Aeron has no words. Taira simply hands the detective back his coat with hints of an amused smile on his lips. He is otherwise unfazed.

 _What was_ that? Aeron thinks, and Isaac turns to him as if addressed.

 _Just testing something_ , he says, and shrugs nonchalantly. He pats his suit clean of dust.

Hana gapes at Isaac's outlandish behaviour. In response to her complete shock, Taira's indifference quickly starts to decompose. He ushers them hastily towards the door.

 _On second thought, I feel like it'll be better if you let the four of us handle the situation in this room,_ he suggests while pulling open the kitchen door. Hana can barely get two words out before Aeron is guided away alongside her. When Flynn sees them at the exit, he nods in thanks to the doctor and joins them, despite the distraction in his gait. The very second Flynn's foot steps outside, the door is closed on them.

* * *

 **PAULINE CELESTE**

They're walking at an extremely tense and quick pace down the hallway. It's honestly no trouble for her, but she winces in chagrin when Hino tenses at her heels clicking against the floorboards. It's a movement that distracts her resolute gaze on Hayashi's back as he leads them towards the bow of the ship. They walk in a silence that allows Pauline to hear the steadiness of her own pulse thrumming like instrumental music underneath her tanned skin. If she listens closely, she can imagine Hayashi's pounding beat and Hino's quivering heart. She imagines it so well, she's almost convinced it's real - their blood complementary to her melancholy tune. She sighs, quietly, causing Hino to glance concernedly at her and Hayashi to slightly turn his head around.

They continue walking, Pauline's heels going _click, click_ on the wooden floor, until eventually, Hino's reserved voice rises above the sound. "I'm sorry, Pauline. I know you were close with...her."

Pauline ducks her head. Her hair falls over her face and she pinches her eyes shut. Her lips twitch uncontrollably in what might be considered a smile. Poor boy can't even say Natsuki's name. When she glances up, her eyelashes are heavy with unshed tears. She dabs at them quickly, but Hayashi notices. "It was unfair what happened to her," she says, voice moving calmly along with the pulse that throbs within her. "We need to find whoever did _that_. We need to make sure she rests peacefully."

Hino glances away, gnawing at his lip. Hayashi nods and sets his shoulders.

"We _will_ find the murderer. We _will_ bring justice to Natsuki," the bowler states. He smiles reassuringly at them. "Don't worry."

Pauline grins, though it goes unnoticed. _Cute_ , she thinks.

The salty breeze rakes through her bun. She feels her hair drying faster as seconds pass by - she tugs it from its upkeep and lets it fall to her lower back. She can smell the thin strawberry scent of her shampoo as it is released from her tie. With the way Hayashi twitches slightly, she has no doubt he smells it too. She smiles to herself.

Eventually, they reach the bow of the ship. Pauline takes a second to appreciate the unpleasant stickiness of the ocean's breeze. Hayashi stares before he rips his gaze away. Hino goes to inspect the tip of the bow and between the crevices of metallic layers placed over the rim. Pauline looks at the sky. It's drearily grey, turning dark with the setting sun, and holds the heavy promise of rain. She smiles. Beautiful weather. Replenished with fresh air and the endless stretch of sky above her, Pauline joins the other two in inspection.

"The bolt looks loose there," she interjects, pointing delicately and curiously at a nut jutting out from a metal plate. The two lean in to scrutinise her observation, and she quickly snatches her hand away - before they accidently come into contact with her. They don't notice her sudden reaction, turned away from her while she fiddles with her nails.

"Odd," Hayashi says simply.

 _Indeed_ , Pauline thinks in reply. She digs under the crevices of her nails while they continue to gauge the bolt. Hayashi slips his fingers under a small gap and attempts to lift the metal plate. It budges slightly, before Hino jumps in and unscrews the loose bolt.

Hayashi lifts it a bit more, and Hino takes a welcome peer inside. There's an overarching silence before Hino retreats, and the plate is lowered.

"It's too dark to see properly," he reasons. Hayashi brushes his fingers off. Pauline listens, but doesn't look at him. "But it's hollow, from what I could make out."

Hayashi frowns. "Odd," he says simply.

 _Indeed_ , Pauline thinks in reply.

"Why don't we go back and see if there's anything we can use to unscrew the rest of the bolts?" Hayashi suggests amiably. Hino nods. Pauline smiles. With silent encouragement, the bowler leads the way once again.

 _Click, click_. Again, Hino's timid voice breaks the rhythmic tapping. "Do you hear that?"

It's an obtrusive ringing - a chime that gets louder and louder the further down they walk. Pauline folds her arms over her torso. What did this mean? Eventually, they stop beneath a monitor, where the sound is resonating from.

"What-" Hayashi demands, before he is cut off by the flickering of the screen.

" _Investigation time is over! Everyone, to the bow!"_

Hayashi's lip pinches as he glances down where they came from. "That's eerie," he says.

Pauline gazes calmly at the monitor as it flickers out. She turns to Hayashi and Hino. "I think we should head down and wait for everyone. We can discuss our findings and get our facts in check," she smiles reassuringly when they both hesitate.

Eventually, Hayashi nods. "Alright, but you two should stay behind me," he insists. He begins his trek back down to the bow. Pauline stares at his back while she and Hino fall into erratic step behind him.

* * *

When they hear the announcement, they can't walk fast enough.

They're on the other side of the ship and two decks above the bow. Flynn races down the stairs, while Hana and Aeron struggle to keep up with his long strides. At one point, he offers to carry them both, but that would blow whatever is left of Aeron's pride out of the water, and Hana doesn't want to be a burden, especially in a frantic situation such as this one. They almost lose him when he rushes too far ahead, but he reappears after they turn the corner. Flynn briefly and insincerely apologises for losing them and slows his pace, though his shoulders are rimmed with impatience.

When they reach the bow, everyone but Watanabe and Kureshi are there. Hayashi spots them and smiles stiffly. _We're waiting on two more_ , he announces.

Aeron immediately looks around for Yakusuga and almost sags in relief when he spots her talking with Takahiro and Suzuki. Almost like she feels his gaze, her eyes finds his and she smiles warmly. The girls beside her also turn to see what caught her attention. They grin and wave nervously when they see him. Hana peels away from his side to walk over to Taira, no doubt to ask for an explanation about earlier, and Flynn scans the crowd for someone who isn't here. He turns to Aeron and makes unexplainable gestures with his hands, something that looks like buttering toast in the morning mixed with a peacock's shake as it flourishes its feathers.

Aeron shrugs, though he is thoroughly amused at Flynn's attempt of communication.

Shaking his head, Flynn repeats his actions, though slower and with greater exaggeration. Aeron desperately wants to laugh, but he feels like he'll get punched in the face if he does. He _could_ offer his book, but…

Aeron senses rather than sees the monumental turn of everyone's heads as they watch Kureshi and Watanabe's arrival. The latter doesn't acknowledge anyone - instead opting to jot something down in a small notebook. The doctor shrinks away from everyone's eyes, but perks up just as quickly when Flynn strides over to him.

 _So_ that's _who he was looking for,_ Aeron thinks. Then he tries to understand how Flynn's dramatic hand movements correlate to Kureshi. Before he can finish his thoughts, Yakusuga is at his side and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her gaze briefly scans his face and arms for any exterior injuries, besides the ones from this morning. Despite being well, he lets her worry anyways - he grins in appreciation when she makes eye contact with him.

Suddenly, her hand tightens, almost painfully, and her gaze is ripped from his face to the front deck.

It's that bear again, and Hana is too frozen rigid to translate anything for him. He stares in mute horror as the bear hits a switch on the bow. The deck shifts beneath his feet. Yakusuga clings to his arm and clutches tightly. His classmates waver between running and waiting for the inevitable. Some stumble, but they all support each other in one way or another.

And so, they're lowered into the floor. Aeron watches as the sky disappears above his head.

* * *

"So, what do we start with?" Ken says.

Saito puts a hand to his chin. "To begin with, everybody's alibis."

Everybody rushes in to proclaim their innocence. Ken raises a hand to control their voices. "We'll go one-by-one," he suggests impatiently. "Hisakawa, let's start with you."

Hanako raises a brow derisively. Her mouth pulls into a sneer. "I was in the restaurant with everybody else. No one left the room long enough to commit the murder," she states, placing down an ultimatum that thumps like a stamp on a wax seal. "This is all a hoax." The succinctness in which she delivers her arguments challenge anyone to prove her wrong. She has a wild grin on her face - a result of adrenaline and elatedness found in the power of her position.

Toboe grips the stand so tightly his knuckles turn white. Eventually, with great will and patience for himself, he stands straighter. "The body is real," he asserts.

Gazes turn to Riku, who nods indifferently, unaffected by the stares. "We managed to confirm the authenticity of the corpse. The information _that bear_ provided us is true - the body is certainly Natsuki."

The grin on Hanako's face fades just the slightest - invisible to someone who isn't paying attention, but everybody is, eyes all on Hanako, asking her, _pleading_ her to retort. She is silent.

"T-That's impossible," comes a soft voice. Everyone turns to Amai, who fidgets with her fingers. "Mura-Murakami and I were in the kitchen most of the time - no one should've had enough time to enter and leave without us knowing."

Faces light up in hope, though Riku and Toboe keep their mouths shut in a grim line.

"She's got a point," pipes up Isaac. "Assuming there was nothing in the ovens but bread - since Yakusuga was baking in the morning, the culprit would only have time to act in the afternoon, which was when _most_ of us were in the restaurant. Massive emphasis on 'most', by the way."

"Which is why it's important to get everyone's alibis," Saito adds, voice patient and calm in the turmoil of emotions flooding the room. "If everyone proves to be innocent, then we can _really_ mark this off as fake."

Hanako grits her teeth, as if this is a chore for her. "I was with Flynn the whole morning, unfortunately." She doesn't react when mentioned classmate bristles. "After investigating the middle deck, we went straight to the kitchen, where I stayed until the incident."

Flynn cricks his head. "I can affirm that."

Hanako turns to Juudai, who doesn't hesitate. "I was on the upper deck with Hino."

Taiki nods. "I was with Yamazaki until the murder."

Pauline's bright gaze pacifies the apprehension in the room. "I was in the restaurant all morning with Watanabe, Natsuki, and Sasaki. Yakusuga was walking in and out, as she was inspecting rooms and cooking in the kitchen," she states calmly.

They go around the circle, everyone stating their alibis, getting their truths approved by witnesses. Eventually, they reach Toboe.

"I-I was...alone," the doctor stammers. "I was smoking by myself on the walkway, near the-the crime scene."

No one says a thing, but the implication hangs low over their heads. Gazes turn accusing, sharp, piercing. Toboe folds in on himself. "It wasn't me. I'm a doctor. I would- I would never-"

"Let's not be hasty," Ken cuts in, before the atmosphere gets too oppressing. His hands are clenched into fists.

"For once, I concur," Hanako interjects, throwing everyone off guard. "According to several witnesses, Natsuki was in the restaurant the whole time, correct? No one noticed her disappearance until we were called to the scene." her tone is reasonable, though not gentle, and her gaze demands rational thinking from her audience. Her grin is gone, and there is a miniscule scrunch of her brows as she considers her next argument. "If Kureshi was never seen entering the restaurant, he wouldn't have been able to harm Natsuki." She pauses. "Am I wrong?"

Everyone is silent. No one speaks up in disagreement. Toboe slumps in relief, though his shoulders still don't unfold. "Am I crossed off this list, then?" he asks tentatively.

"Not so fast, pretty boy," Isaac says, ignoring Toboe's scowl. "You said you were near the kitchen? How did you not notice anyone entering and leaving the kitchen?" Isaac grins, and continues without hiding the harshness of his next words. "Unless you did, and you're an accomplice."

Toboe flinches. "I-I really didn't. I was preoccupied."

Isaac merely raises a brow in response.

The doctor continues. "I was looking the opposite direction, plus, it's hard to concentrate on anything when I'm smoking, kinda."

Isaac laughs suddenly, the sound jarring as it cuts across the room. "Ha! A doctor who smokes - isn't that ironic?"

Shizuka chokes with the sudden shift of tone.

Flynn frowns. "Smoking is bad for the environment. The amount of air pollution it causes daily is insurmountable."

Toboe winces and glances at the ground. "S-Sorry."

"We're digressing," Saito says, pulling everybody back to topic. "About not noticing-" before his train of speech can be continued, Hanako cuts in.

"It makes sense, if thought about carefully," she says. "The roar of the sea, the smell of tobacco, looking the other way. His senses would've been occupied." She smirks. "Though it _was_ stupid of him to not notice the murderer walk in and out right under his nose."

Everyone hums in some form of agreement. Toboe seethes.

"Let's not rule him out yet - or anyone else, for that matter, not this early in the trial," Ken says, before the painted illusion of innocence becomes too real to dispute. "What I want answered, however, is Yakusuga and Murakami's involvement in this." He turns to the two, who freeze up immediately.

"It's okay, Aeron, they just want to fill in some missing spots in your alibis. You too, Yakusuga. Don't fret," Hana explains kindly, while her hands translate for Aeron.

Amai hesitates. "Well, I-"

She stops when Aeron coughs into his fist. He hums as he clears his throat. "I admit that I was last to leave my room - a bit after noon, I think," he says outloud. His voice is raspy and scratchy from disuse, but his words are still audible.

Nanami's eyes bulge from her head. "He can talk?!"

Aeron, just getting the translation, gives her a look. "I'm deaf, not mute."

Nanami flushes and ducks her head. _Sorry_ , she signs.

Aeron raises a brow in interest, but doesn't pursue.

"Why were you last?" Saito questions, the information new to him.

Aeron stops to consider his words. "I was...unconscious, for the better part. I only left when Yakusuga freed me with a knife I had in my room."

All eyes turn to Amai.

"Is this true?" Saito asks. Amai nods silently in affirmation.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the room, aloof and cold with analysis. "We're getting nowhere with this. I suggest we all assume everyone's alibis are eligible for now, and move on to the _how_ ," Riku breaks the static discussion with a statement that rings truer than anything that's been said so far. "From the autopsy, I can affirm that everything on the tablet is accurate in its observations. That means Natsuki was _stabbed_ to death, not burned."

"On the stomach?" Juudai asks incredulously.

"Obviously not," Riku denies in a matter-of-fact tone. "Her thigh. An artery was cut. Her death was quick."

Isaac hums. "Wouldn't that mean a _lot_ of blood was spilt? There are no stains on the decks, hallways, and walkways."

Riku's eyes narrow. "Do you doubt my conclusion?"

Saito interrupts the forming argument. He turns to Riku. "You said she was in a state of undress when placed in the oven?"

Riku nods. "Correct."

Saito's mouth tightens in understanding. "Then I'm set. I know how this played out."

Isaac grins. "As expected of a fellow investigator! I knew all along, but I'll let you have the glory."

Shizuka frowns. "Somehow, I doubt that statement…" she mumbles.

Ken raises a brow. "Elaborate, then."

Saito nods. "Alright, the people I deem suspicious are: Hisakawa, Kureshi, Suzuki and Flynn."

Nanami looks around frantically. Her eyes line with tears. "W-What? You thi-think I..." she whimpers.

Flynn's heads tilts upwards. "What makes you say that?" he hisses. "What baseless idea are you working off?"

"You four were the only ones who flinched when I announced my knowledge," Saito says.

"So what?" Hanako defends, eyes blown open in disbelief. "It was surprising news. Unless you lied."

Saito huffs in what almost seems like a scoff. "Don't get me wrong," he starts, "I _do_ know how it happened, just not sure about the 'who' part."

Isaac raises a brow. "Alright, seems I was wrong to go along with you. To me, those four are least likely to be the culprit."

Saito's head snaps to his companion. "What do you mean?"

Isaac rolls his eyes, and the tension between the two become palpable. "C'mon, I thought you'd get this. Flynn is the biggest guy here _and_ he wears a helmet. He looks like he just stepped out of a _Star Wars_ movie shoot. Hisakawa here is so obnoxious she's basically a walking magazine scandal." He shrugs off the indignant cries of the two he mentioned. "What I'm _saying_ is: people have eyes on these two _all the time_ , consciously or not. They shouldn't have been able to get anywhere without _someone_ spotting them." He throws a pointed look at Toboe. "Even pretty boy would've heard them stomping their angry, grumpy feet everywhere - you can feel vibrations in the floor when people tread over the walkway, can't you?"

Toboe startles in surprise. He turns his eyes to the ceiling, considering. "Yes, I suppose so."

Isaac grins. "Fantastic."

Pauline tilts her head to the side. "What about the other two?"

Isaac's smile grows wider. "Easy. Dear Suzuki is Suzuki - as if she'd have the guts to pull off a murder without some sort of ultimatum from _Monokuma_."

Nanami offers a wobbly smile. "I'm not sure if I'm relieved or offended…"

"And pretty boy has a white coat - even if he _did_ take it off, Natsuki should've had some sort of lingering scent of cigarettes on her. Judging by how strong it was when I first encountered him, he must've gone through _at_ _least_ five," Isaac states. "So pat yourself on the back, pretty boy. Your cigarettes saved your life."

There's silence as everyone considers Isaac's theories.

Saito frowns. "Isaac...Suzuki and Kureshi's reasonings don't account for much-"

Isaac snickers. "Just trust me - I have impeccable intuition."

"Our lives are on the _line_ ," Ken interjects. "We can't risk everything for _instinct_."

"If we could get back to the floor vibrations," Toboe says, hands wrapped around his elbows as he rolls words around his mouth. "I felt a pair of footsteps - from an individual - leave the kitchen...around thirty to forty minutes before Yakusuga and Murakami arrived to stop the fire."

Hanako's eyes narrow. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Dumbass."

Toboe glares back, "I didn't think about it until Isaac brought it up."

"Can you identify that person?" Saito interrupts eagerly. His expression lights with hopeful expectation.

Isaac grows impatient enough to throw himself against the brace of his stand. "Well, who is it?" the detective asks with vigour.

Contemplating, Toboe shakes his head. "I wasn't around any of you long enough to know what your paces sound like…"

"That's okay, just tap it out," Saito insists encouragingly.

The room falls into silence as Toboe pats out a gait onto the wooden stand.

 _Tap, tap, tap, tap._

Everyone looks around in confusion. Many mumble to themselves as they consider who could match that pace. Everyone reaches tired resignation. Everyone but Taiki, who turns pale. He grips his brace as his feet tilt. His voice comes as a whisper - scared, apprehensive, and doubtful.

"Pauline…?"

Eyes snap to the model. Pauline's expression doesn't betray a single emotion.

* * *

 **AN: I apologise for leaving this on a cliffhanger. Thank you, everyone, for your support and patience so far - for dealing with my long absences and spontaneous updates. I want to announce that I will be discontinuing this story. I've reached a year where I need to prioritise my studies over everything else - it was enough of a struggle for me to put these chapters out and stay dedicated to the fandom already, so I can't imagine how much harder it will be to do so this year. I'm sorry for wasting the potential of everyone's OCs and for leaving this chapter open-ended.**


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